


Someone To Ride The River With

by 09cityskylights



Series: Wild West Ian and Mickey [1]
Category: Shameless (US), gallavich - Fandom
Genre: 1874, Alternate Universe, American Frontier, Bounty Hunter, Cowboys, Drama/Action/Gay Romance, Historic Gallavich, M/M, Old West, On the Run, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Violence, Wanted man, explicit content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2018-12-25 13:19:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 26,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12036720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/09cityskylights/pseuds/09cityskylights
Summary: 1874, The American Frontier.'Mad' Mick is a bounty hunter from Tombstone Arizona, infamous for being one of the most violent head-hunters in the West.Ian Gallagher is a man from a family of ranchers in Dodge City Kansas, on the run and wanted for a crime that he didn’t commit in Cripple Creek Colorado.*Some but not all aspects are historically accurate*





	1. A Wanted Man

 

 **1874,** **The Wacasey Brothers Saloon**

**El Paso, Texas.**

He glances down the bar’s busy length warily once more as if to confirm his suspicions, but he still only sees the same flush gamblers, horse-rustlers, and painted prostitutes sitting there drinking as before.

It’s time to go.

He reaches down into the pocket of his canvas trousers to pull out his worn leather pouch and settle up.

Fishing through it impatiently, he pulls out two half-dimes and drops them on the counter, tipping his Stetson hat meaningfully at the bartender to make sure he sees the payment.

He then leaves his barstool, lowering his gaze as he swiftly exits the Wacasey Brothers Saloon.

Someone in there was watching him, observing him. He didn’t actually see it, but he could feel it for the last minute or two as he sat there uncertainly, with unseen eyes watching him polish off his second glass of cut bourbon.

When the feeling didn’t shake, he knew he should leave.

The heavy sense of uneasiness in his chest fades a few moments after he steps out onto the quiet and dusty street. No one had followed him outside.

If someone _had_ been watching and actually recognized him, they likely wouldn’t have let him leave so easily. Not while knowing he was a wanted man.

Ian sighs with mild relief, walking behind the saloon in the dusky end-of-day light to find a tree to empty on. He had traveled far on foot, come all the way to El Paso Texas while he hid from the law, assuming he would be safe from recognition here as long as he kept his head down.

And for the past two months he had been, but riding out on a rail will do things to a man’s mind.

“Just bein paranoid” he mutters to himself as he unzips his trousers to urinate against his selected tree. He uses his free hand to take his wide-brimmed Stetson hat off, waving it against his liquor flushed face for a moment while he finishes up, but before he can put it back on his head, he feels the push of metal against his skull.

“Knew it was you” a low voice states, with a curl of satisfaction.

Ian buttons up his trousers and turns around very, very slowly, holding his hands up in front of his chest to show he’s defenseless, and finds himself face to face with a .45 Colt revolver.

His green eyes flicker up nervously from the weapon towards the person holding it, but the man’s own dark leather hat is pulled low, and all he can see is a narrow nose and well-formed lips pressed together firmly above a dark and stubbled beard.

His panicky eyes glide over the man’s dark woollen coat and black canvas trousers next, the sharp leather belt, the extra revolver holstered to it.

He’s a bounty hunter…no doubt about it.

Ian’s only sorry hope now is to pray to God that the hunter doesn’t actually know who he is.

“Don’t think we know each other” he says with a soft and careful laugh, trying to control his jumping nerves.

The bounty hunter immediately clicks his revolver in response and Ian swallows hard as the hunter snarls, “Don’t play fuckin stupid with me Red. You’re a wanted man”.

Shit.

The man lifts his head, and then Ian sees the challenging and sharp blue eyes, recognition slowly flooding into his slightly liquored brain as he stares at the bounty hunter. His green eyes flicker down to the hand on the gun to confirm, and sure enough, he sees the infamous tattoos.

“You’re Mad Mick” he breathes.

Of course one of the most violent bounty hunters in the entire Wild West, rumored to have even killed his own father, is the one to catch him. Of fucking course.

Crooked as a Virginia fence, Mad Mick had the well-earned reputation of tracking down and catching any man he was looking for, but he only ever brought about half of them back alive, by choice. Murder brought him as much satisfaction as a pay cheque did.

The man that appears to be around his own age grins, revealing a surprisingly pleasant smile.

“And you’re a dead man, Ian Gallagher”.

Ian shakes his head in denial, trying to stall him. Ever since the misunderstanding at Cripple Creek damn near two months past now, he’s kept his head down and moved Southwards, so he’s without a clue of what the current price on his head even is.

“I don’t know who that is” Ian lies brazenly.

The bounty hunter just sniffs, moving the gun away from his perspiring forehead and now aiming it directly at his chest instead. “Bet you thought no one would recognize you out here” he says, almost casually, “But I don’t forget a man’s face. Specially not a rapist’s”.

He spits at the ground by Ian’s feet in disgust, digging out a piece of paper from his coat to show him, and the redhead grimaces. The black and white wanted sketch isn’t bad, but it’s the description that completely fucks him over. There aren’t too many tall, green eyed redheads out West.

He skims over the rest of the writing.

 **WANTED: _Ian Clayton Gallagher_** _, for the attempted **rape** of a young and innocent woman in **Cripple Creek Colorado.** **Reward** of **$600** offered by Sir William Hossman to any man that can bring him in. _

Ian just stares. Six hundred dollars…that’s an awful lot for his sorry hide. But the scorned and possessive girl that had accused him of trying to rape her as soon as he rejected her advances, came from a family that struck gold panning in Cripple Creek, and clearly, they could afford to pay the reward money.

“I’m not a rapist” he says, feeling his chest heave at the implication. Nothing could offend him more, but the only damn argument he had that could possibly save his sorry ass from her false claim, was one that would likely get him shot just as soon.

He could only bed with a man.

Mad Mick sneers at his denial, “Aileen Hossman says you are, and her daddy says you’re worth six hundred dollars once delivered to him in Cripple Creek”.

“Dead or alive?” Ian demands, the man across from him raising an eyebrow sharply at his tone. But after a moment of silence, the hunter glances him over again, his blue eyes ungiving as to what he is thinking.  

“Alive”.

There’s that at least. Ian nods slowly, knowing there’s no point trying to defend himself to the bounty hunter. Even if he believed he might be innocent, which he clearly doesn’t, why would he give up $600 for a stranger? Ian feels miserable as the bounty hunter roughly ties his wrists together, leaving a short length of rope to yank him around by.

Mad Mick ties Ian’s rope to the leather stirrup of his horse that he had left tied to a post outside of the Wacasey Brothers Saloon while he was there drinking, making Ian walk beside him in the dust while he rides comfortably.

Like any frontier town, they are soon out of El Paso’s boundaries and back in wild country, the great empty expanse of barren Texan land between settlements.

Ian eventually looks up and over at the man up on his horse, trying to size him up while his sharp blue eyes are focused on the sun setting in the distance and not on him.

It’ll take them at the very least a week to get to Colorado like this, so he’s got to get an opportunity to escape before then. His life depends on it. But the other young man seems strong, with a stocky build…and even though he’s a little shorter than Ian, he’s very muscular and firm looking…

The bounty hunter suddenly looks down at him without warning and catches his sweeping gaze, his eyes narrowing in suspicion, “What the fuck are you lookin at?” he asks sharply.

Ian is actually just as startled by the way he’d been looking at him, his thoughts of sizing Mad Mick up had gone in two entirely different directions without him realizing it until he was caught staring.

“Uh, nothing. Your horse, he’s a Mustang, right? They’re apparently really hard to catch and tame, but I’ve heard they’re really reliable once you do. He’s a real beauty, I’d guess maybe fifteen hands” Ian blathers, hoping his lie works.

It does. The bounty hunter laughs, actually laughs, and it’s a surprisingly pleasant sound. There’s a certain fondness in his tone as he responds, “Don’t I know it. Fucker bit me ten times before he stopped trying to run away. Now he’s a loyal bastard, aren’t ya Diablo?”

Interesting. Not too many men went and actually caught their own horses anymore, mostly because it was much less of a hassle to just buy them from ranchers, already tamed. There’s a moment of silence before the bounty hunter speaks again, “The fuck do you know so much about horses for anyways? Thought you were a prospector or some shit?”

Ian shakes his head a little dejectedly, “I was only over in Cripple Creek to make a little extra money. Half my family lives in Dodge City selling cattle, that the other half raises down on a small ranch further South. We raise some horses too though”.

God what he wouldn’t give to go back to the quiet days herding those heifers North to Kansas with his younger brother Carl.

The bounty hunter just snorts, ending the conversation abruptly. “Real cowboy aren’t ya Gallagher? Pull over, we’re making camp for the night by that tree”.

“Okay” Ian says. The man seems more relaxed than he did before, so maybe, just maybe, he’ll get a chance sooner than he thought to cut and run.

If he can just get him to lower his guard a little more… “So, where are you from, Mad-“

“It’s Mickey”.

“Huh?”

“Mickey. My name is _Mickey._ Gettin real fuckin tired of people callin me mad all the time that don’t even fuckin know me”.

Ian looks up at him awkwardly, “Uh, okay. Mickey”. He finds the sudden change in the man’s tone strange, like he was exasperated at having to explain that. Maybe he wasn’t the one that came up with that infamous nickname after all, or maybe he only liked it when it suited him.

But all thoughts of the origin of the bounty hunter’s threatening name go aside when Mad Mickey jumps down from the horse’s back to untie him from the stirrup so he can retie him to the tree for the night.

This might be it, his only chance to get away.

The fucking second the loop comes off the stirrup, Ian yanks back hard, pulling the rope and himself free from the hunter’s grasp. He’s a fast runner, he can cut the ropes off with a sharp rock, Mickey needs him alive so he won’t shoot him…

All these thoughts go racing through his adrenaline-charged mind, right before everything goes black and he crumples to the ground like a sack of old potatoes.

Maybe he was wrong about the bounty hunter not being willing to shoot him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Old Western slang:
> 
> Riding out on a rail= forced to leave town  
> Crooked as a Virginia fence= stubborn temperament


	2. Lick and a Promise

**The Badlands**

**New Mexico Territory**

“ _Ugh…fuck_ …” Ian groans in nauseating pain as he slowly comes to his senses an hour later, squinting at the bright bonfire now crackling and snapping a few feet in front of him as he tries to take in his surroundings.

It’s much darker out now, with barely a star in the never-ending night sky above him.

He tests shifting his shoulders a bit to try and move, but he’s tied very tightly to the trunk of the tree that he’s propped up against, and there’s no give.

“Well that was fucking stupid”.

He snaps his head quickly around to see Mickey returning to the fire with some dry wood to feed it with. The bounty hunter shakes his head at him, “If you weren’t addle headed before, you probably are now” he drawls.

Mickey hadn’t shot him, but he _had_ slammed his steel Colt revolver down on his head the second he tried to pull away and run, knocking him out cold, and a residual ache is still throbbing angrily across his skull, making him snap.

He grits his teeth at the bounty hunter and struggles uselessly against his restraints again, “Fuck you” he spits. The bounty hunter just looks amused, “Fuck me? Fuck you, you actually thought I’d let your sorry rapin ass get away. Think again, shit for brains”.

“I. Am. Not. A. Rapist” Ian hisses, “The girl made it up!” he insists angrily.

Mickey just frowns at him, cocking a dark eyebrow as he says mockingly, “Now why would a pretty little thing like that make that up?”

“Because I’m…because I couldn’t…because she did. Okay? You’re sending an innocent man to his death if you bring me back to Cripple Creek” Ian rants, beyond frustrated.

If he had _any_ damn idea that the innocent looking blonde visiting her prospecting father would sneak inside his makeshift tent and jump on him like that, he would have packed up and left Cripple Creek before she had the fucking chance to.

“Moving speech, I’m sure you’re really someone to ride the river with. Now shut the fuck up and go to sleep”.

With that, the bounty hunter lays on his back, propping his head up against a rock, and puts his hat down over his face without a care in the world, his horse grazing at some stray blades of grass near his head. Ian wishes the thing would bite him a few more times. Asshole.

He sits there just fuming for what feels like hours before he finally passes out, but when he wakes up in the morning to Mickey nudging him awake roughly with his boot, he finds the pain in his skull has thankfully dulled to a mild throb, and he is untied.

There’s still a gun aimed at him though.

“Go take a piss before we get moving again” Mickey says, jerking his head at a nearby bush. Ian grimaces and follows his order, but only because he’d rather not walk around in piss-soaked trousers all day.

He finishes urinating and glances over his shoulder before he readjusts his trousers and buttons up, but he sees Mickey quickly turning away from him, his watchful eyes no longer on him at this very second.

Ian bites his lip, eyes edging towards the desert, and his survival instincts kick in almost instantly. He just fucking bolts, without even thinking twice about it. His hands are free, and his legs are wobbly at first, but he’s a fast runner, in excellent shape, and he thinks he’s actually getting away until he hears hooves thundering up beside him and the hunter yelling _“Yah! Yah!”_ to urge Diablo on faster.

Then without a lick of warning, as soon as they are level with one another, Mickey leaps from the Mustang’s back to tackle him down into the dust, the two of them swearing as they hit and then wrestle desperately on the hard ground.

Ian flails and tries to throw punches upwards into the other man's face, but Mickey’s got the upper hand and is pinning him down with his strong legs, slamming his own fist down into his jaw repeatedly. But the second Ian stops fighting, realizing he’s not going to get away, the other man does too.

His face is red and flushed, and he breathes out heavily from his nostrils as he stares down at him, dark red blood dripping freely from his narrow nose.

“Get up” he demands angrily, as Ian rolls over and coughs in pain, spitting out some bitter tasting blood. “And I suggest you stop fucking trying to run, because Gallagher, you’re dying either way, and there’s nothing on the bounty about you needing all your limbs”.

Ian blinks at him as he stands up warily, his shoulders slumping in defeat. From the heated look in Mickey’s blue eyes right now, and the way they keep darting around as he sniffs angrily, he has little doubt that was an empty threat.  No wonder they fucking called him Mad Mick. The man had killed his own father.

“This is bullshit” he mutters as Mickey roughly reties him to the horse’s stirrup, but the escape attempt is already over, and the bounty hunter won’t entertain the notion of it any longer.

The binding rope around Ian’s wrists as they walk on is starting to irritate and chafe his skin, but he won’t embarrass himself and complain. If anything, Mickey would probably just tighten the knot.

The bounty hunter and him travel in silence for quite some time, but the trek is mind-numbingly dull as they pass through endless miles of unchanging desert, and Ian’s legs are fucking aching from walking so many damn miles without rest.

“Why were you in El Paso?” he finally asks, trying to keep himself distracted from how much his body is hurting. A good night’s sleep last night probably would have made a world of difference for it too, but he had of course slept propped up against a tree.

Mickey glances down at him, shrugging at the question he clearly finds stupid. “It’s the gunfight capital of the world. Wasn’t there looking for your sorry ass, believe me. Was just dumb luck finding you there, Red”.

Yeah, luck.

“So you’re not from there then”.

He tries to remember if in the stories he had heard over the years if Mad Mick's origins were ever mentioned. If they were, he's forgotten them.

“Jesus Gallagher, you got a leaky mouth. I deserve a reward just for putting up with it” Mickey says, ignoring the question.

He reaches down into his saddle bag and procures a well-rolled cigar, propping it in his mouth and striking it with a match before he exhales some acrid smoke contentedly.

Ian is still looking up at him, and he notices with some interest the way Mickey licks his well-formed lips before he wraps them back around the rounded cigar, the blood in his body suddenly changing directions.

And then he feels very light headed, and he’s hitting the dust with his knees a moment later, trying not to pass out as his head swims.

“Fuck” Mickey says around the cigar, pulling his horse to a stop by the reigns. He jumps down in front of Ian in the dirt, nudging him with his leather boot, but from the tone of his voice, he already knows its useless.

“Get up”.

Ian coughs weakly, the choking dust from the ground spiralling up towards his face, “I really need some water, and something to eat”.

It had been almost two days since he had his last meal now, and being forced to walk across a hot desert was expending more energy than he currently had to give. Mickey sighs, looking irritated. “Listen, you can eat when we get to the next town and find a rum hole. So quit your bellyaching, it won't do you any good out here”.

Ian nods faintly, but after another ten minutes of being forced to trudge along he falls again, and this time he doesn’t get back up without help.

Mickey looks torn, and by this point Ian can hear his stomach grumbling too, even though he was in a lot better shape considering he’d been riding a damn horse and not walking constantly for the past night and day.

“Alright, you can ride with me to Drygulch, but you better be back on your feet by tomorrow Red. Diablo ain’t gonna be able to travel with two of us for long, even though it would be faster to get you to Colorado” Mickey says regretfully.

Fantastic. He’d love to deliver him to his death sooner.

He reaches down to help yank Ian up onto the horse in front of him, so he can’t try anything from behind. Ian doesn’t care, he’s exhausted and grateful to be off his feet, and travelling this way is indeed faster.

“Can you move your revolver a bit?” he asks after a while, shifting uncomfortably, “It’s poking into my spine. I’m not gonna try anything, I swear”. Mickey is quiet for a moment from behind him, and then he just grunts, “Not gonna kill ya”, so Ian drops it with a sigh.

He does starts to feel better after a short break from walking, and by the time they reach Drygulch, he’s still hungry but not as lightheaded.  

Mickey pulls Ian down from the horse by his bound wrists once Diablo is roped to a post, but before they go inside the saloon, his deft fingers reach over to untie Ian’s hands.

Ian looks over at him in surprise, rubbing his sore wrists.

“Don’t need to be drawing attention to ourselves” is all Mickey says, meaningfully patting the Colt in his pocket.

Ian nods his understanding, and when they go inside, he follows his lead and quietly sits at a worn wooden table with Mickey, who calls over the bar maid with an impatient hand gesture. “What’s on the menu tonight?” he asks, as soon she arrives at their table.

“Not sure, but it’s hot, brown, and there’s plenty of it” she says flirtatiously. A saloon’s usual slop. But just the thought of it is making Ian’s mouth water.

“Great. Two big bowls of that, and a glass of liquor strong enough to sting, for me. Black water for him” Mickey says, dismissively gesturing at Ian.

“Two meals of the day, bumblebee whiskey, and a weak coffee. Got it. Be back with that in a minute. And... if you’re interested, the girls upstairs have some time on their hands, but nothing in them” she says, tossing him a wink.

The bounty hunter doesn’t show any interest in the offer regarding the whores, “Yeah, great, go get our damn food”.

When she returns with everything, Mickey slams his whiskey back, but Ian just sips at his coffee, eating slowly so he doesn’t make himself sick. “You planning on keeping me up all night?” he asks after a while, flinching a bit when Mickey almost chokes on his food.

“Why the fuck would you ask me that?” the bounty hunter demands, wiping his mouth against the back of his hand and glaring at him like he's stupid.

Ian looks around the saloon in confusion at his extreme reaction to the light joke, “Because you ordered me a coffee right before we make camp for the night?”

He then blushes a bit as it hits him what Mickey thought he meant, and he can’t help but look at him again curiously.

He really is a handsome man; his sharp features are absolutely striking. Those mysterious blue eyes beneath his expressive eyebrows and his head of jet-black hair make him stand out just as much as Ian does with his red locks.

It’s really a shame that the bounty hunter is bringing him to his death, because if he wasn’t Ian actually wouldn’t mind keeping him up all night, coffee or otherwise.

Mickey clears his throat after his reasonable explanation, relaxing a bit in his seat, “Wasn’t gonna buy you a fucking drink. If you gotta problem with coffee though, you can have water from the trough outside, idiot”.

Despite himself, now feeling better and with a decent meal in his belly, Ian laughs at the snide remark, and the bounty hunter looks at him again for a moment longer, his expression strange but unreadable.

They soon finish eating, and of course, rather than pay for a room for the night, they continue on the empty roads just past the town of Drygulch to set up camp in the distance, where Mickey kneels in front of him to tie him to a tree once more.

Ian watches him closely as he does, searching his face for what he doesn’t really know, but then Mickey pauses and looks up, and his powerful gaze meets Ian’s. His blue eyes flicker down over Ian’s face slowly and then up again, and Ian’s heart thuds against his chest.

He can’t believe it, he feels like a fucking asshole even admitting it to himself, but part of him wants to lean forward and taste the other man’s lips, feel his stubble beneath his fingertips, touch his pale skin.

But before he can even consider this wild train of thought for another second, Mickey drops his gaze, and Ian quickly asks, “Do you think you could tie me up a little differently tonight? You know, so I can actually lay down?”

The man looks up at him again, his forehead creased as he mulls over the request. He doesn’t verbally answer, but he nudges Ian down to the ground with his boot and then loosens and reties his bonds to accommodate his request.

He starts to walk over to the other side of the fire, where Diablo is already standing and sleeping, but Ian calls out, “Thank you”. The hunter stops and looks back at him, and his expression is probably the most human Ian has ever seen on him, his eyes flickering to the ground before he shrugs a little.

With a gentle sigh, Ian nudges his head into the ground a little more comfortably, and then he drifts off into a much easier sleep than he had the night before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some old Western slang:  
> Addle headed= stupid  
> Someone to ride the river with= a person you can count on, reliable.  
> A lick and a promise= doing something haphazardly


	3. The Cowboy's Creed

**Town of Lost Water,**

**New Mexico Territory**

It takes the captured cowboy and the bounty hunter another day and a half to reach the next small settlement on their driven path, but as soon as they enter into it’s silent and empty main street, considering the time of day, Ian feels uneasy.

It’s not normal for a town to be this dead in the middle of the afternoon.

It also doesn’t help that Mad Mick seems just as restless by the fact, and even Diablo is snorting and tossing his head a little more than usual, but the bounty hunter won't respond to any of Ian's questions or concerns.

Instead he just keeps his Stetson hat low, eyes sweeping the streets before he stops in front of the J. Shaw General Store, tying his horse and in turn Ian to a wooden post outside of it. “I’ll be right back” he says, when he sees the unimpressed look on Ian’s face.

Ian waits for a few minutes, biting his lip and looking around the streets nervously, and then a loud and echoing bang makes him swear and duck down, taking cover behind the startled horse he's tied to.

The unseen shooter might not be aiming for him, but the frequently poor accuracy of pistols and revolvers meant a bystander like him could just as easily end up taking a bullet.

“It’s me or you Bill, this town ain’t big enough for the two of us!” an angry voice shouts.

Peering out from underneath the horse’s belly apprehensively, Ian sees two men that appear to have come out of nowhere are now having a gunfight in the middle of the street. Shit. Based on how empty the town seems, the fight must have been planned. It all makes sense now.

The other man hollers back just as loud, “You’re gonna be feeding the buzzards soon Pete!”

Multiple misfired shots go off again and strike the buildings behind each man before a panicked Ian feels someone grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and pulling him upwards roughly.

Mickey had returned amidst the noise without him realizing it, and within seconds the bounty hunter is on his horse and dragging Ian up onto it in front of him, "Time to go Red!"

“Jesus Christ, took you long enough!” Ian shouts, as Mickey reaches around him to grab the rope anchoring Diablo to the post. The hunter pulls out his bowie knife and saws through the rope quickly, but as soon as they are free and he slaps the reigns down, another shot fires and Diablo lets out a shrill neigh of terror and pain as a stray bullet hits his rump.

"Fuck!" Ian raises his bound hands above his own head protectively, loudly cursing, but he looks back anyways, wondering why _the hell_ Mickey isn’t kicking his damn horse into action and getting them the hell out of there!

Instead, he’s just controlling the reeling animal by it’s reigns, turning his entire body around at the same time with flaming blue eyes to see who dared to hit his beast with a bullet.

The gun-fight in the street, just feet away from them now, is still blazing, the two men completely focused on shooting at each other and yet unaware of the third man now focusing on them both.

Steadying his trembling rage, Mickey raises his Colt .45 and fires two clean and perfect shots, one directly into each man’s skull. They both instantly fall to the street, and dead as door-nails, they begin to paint the road red.

Ian’s mouth drops open in shock, but Mickey tucks the gun back down into his leather belt and then kicks Diablo in the sides, _“Yah!”_ he shouts, cracking the reigns and finally allowing the horse to take leave.

Diablo gallops away from the scene, thundering through the remainder of the town and into new roads, the scenery slowly changing into more greenery, and less desert as they go on.

Mickey is still fuming, Ian can tell by how tense the man is sitting behind him, but after a while he tentatively calls back, “We should stop. Take care of your horse”.

He half expects Mickey to pistol whip him for the suggestion, but instead the hunter just jerks the reigns to the side, pulling Diablo off the rough and barren road and towards a small patch of sparse trees.

Ian awkwardly slides off the horse after Mickey, who is so distracted by the amount of blood flowing from his horse’s backside, that he probably wouldn’t even notice if he took off right now.

But the terrified horse is showing the whites of its eyes, it’s nostrils flaring, and Ian can’t help but feel bad for both it and its master, blood dripping between his tattooed fingers as he tries to staunch the flow with his bare hands. 

“God dammit!” Mickey shouts, gritting his teeth as his eyes water slightly.

Being a bounty hunter was a lonely and solitary life, and it was likely that this horse was the only company Mickey had for months on end. That didn’t want to stab him in his sleep of course.

Ian could sympathize, because he’d felt the same way ever since he’d been on the run, leaving his entire family and everything he’d ever known behind.

“It looks worse than it is” he says tentatively, tipping his chin towards the injured horse. Mickey immediately looks over at him, his worried blue eyes darting between him and the horse, “What-“

“I can help him. I need my hands though” Ian says simply, “And water or alcohol to start, if you have it”.

Mickey just looks at him, completely torn, and Ian waits, knowing he’ll cave soon by the way he keeps reaching out with a shaking hand to touch his faithful steed.

“Okay. I’ll untie you, but I’m keeping this on you” Mickey finally says, holding his Colt revolver so tightly in his clean hand that his bruised knuckles turn white.

Ian just nods, offering out his own hands to be untied, and afterwards he inspects the wound while Mickey quickly digs for the small flask of whiskey he keeps in the saddlebag, and the skin of water.

“It’s mostly surface” Ian explains to him, using some of the water to rinse away the blood first. “See? The bullet isn’t lodged in there, it went in sideways, which is good. Really good, otherwise he’d likely be feeding the vultures soon”.

“Shut up” Mickey says, gritting his teeth, “And fix him”.

“I can’t fix him, but I can keep this from turning into something ugly” Ian tells him honestly, pulling the old red handkerchief Fiona had given him from his neck and soaking it with the whiskey. He rinses away some more of the blood from the bullet's entry point with water before he rolls the handkerchief into a ball.

“Hold his reigns. Keep him calm” Ian tells Mickey, who surprisingly follows his direction without a single word. “This is gonna hurt like hell, but an infection in his blood would kill him for sure”.

He presses the whiskey soaked rag to the wound, the horse screaming again in pain at the initial burn, but soon he just paces and paws at the ground in agitation while Mickey murmurs to him, holding his long and slender nose gently in his hands.

His Colt is tucked away in it’s holster, and he’s completely defenseless at the moment. Ian notices this, but doesn’t say anything, staunching the blood flow and quietly listening the words Mickey is muttering.

“C’mon boy, that’s my good boy. Gonna make you all better”.

Eventually Ian takes away the rag, “You took some things from my pockets that first night, I’ll need them back. The dried herbs, the bone needle, and the thread” he says plainly. Mickey could have done everything else himself, but this is how Ian will make himself useful. 

Mickey blanches at first, but then removes the small wrapped items from his saddle bag that Ian had asked for, passing them over without comment and watching intently as Ian chews up and then presses the antibiotic herb down to the horse’s skin before he sews the wound up carefully.

Mickey lets go of Diablo’s face when he’s done and looks at him, shaking his head in disbelief. “Fuck. All these years, he’s never taken a bullet before. I’ve survived three, and a couple infections to boot”.

“It’s different with horses, but you’re both strong” Ian says, patting the horses side kindly. He wonders how long it took Mickey to tame the wild creature, and if Mickey himself could ever be tamed.

But then the mood shifts, and Mickey’s roughly shoving his helping hand away from Diablo, “Don’t touch him” he suddenly spits, looking like his hackles are raised.

He’s just now realizing that he’s shown a weakness to his captive, and he doesn’t like it one bit.

Ian bites his lip and backs away from the balled fist, “I won’t”.

“Good. Neither of us is riding him again today, but we can’t stop here” Mickey says, still looking pissed off. He binds Ian’s wrists again and jerks him along roughly for a while before he calms down a bit and loosens his grip, walking beside Ian in a less punishing manner while he leads his horse by the reigns.

It takes them the better part of the rest of the day to reach a small creek bed, but there’s enough shade and shelter there to make decent camp for the night, and Mickey stops without comment, bringing Diablo to the creek to drink first.

Then he awkwardly shoves Ian downwards, so he can press his lips to the moving water and get his fill too, without actually untying him. Frankly, that pisses Ian off, but he doesn’t say anything, knowing it could still be dangerous to push the other man at all right now.

By the time night falls, and Mickey has set up a circle of various sized rocks to contain a small fire for them to sleep by, he’s calmer, even offering Ian small bits of pemmican to eat that he bought from the general store that day.

Irritated, Ian still doesn’t speak though, and he’s just about ready to try and go to sleep after a couple hours of just staring at the fire while Mickey sits across from it, when the other man suddenly clears his throat.

“Why did you do that”.

Ian looks up at him, at the reflection of the fire flickering in his lowered eyes. “What do you mean?” he asks uncertainly. He can’t tell what emotions are behind the other man’s words right now.

Mickey almost sounds annoyed, “Help him. You could of ran, and don’t pretend you didn’t think about it Red, ‘cause I saw it in your eyes. If he died from a bullet wound or an infection, it would buy your sorry ass some more time”.

Ian sighs before he answers honestly, “I did think about it. I don’t know. I grew up on a ranch, and it's part of the Cowboy Creed to help a faithful horse when you can. Didn't like seeing him in pain much either. If I couldn’t have helped him, I would have shot him in the head just as quickly so he wouldn’t suffer. And if I ran off, you just would have caught me again anyways”.

Mickey nods silently, knowing it would be the best thing to do, and also agreeing with his last statement.

“You know,” Ian says quietly after a while, “I’ve been on my own for a few months now, no family by my side. I’m sure after a couple of years, a horse like that would mean everything to me”.

It was true. Being on his own and on the run was the loneliest feeling he had ever experienced, and he ached for even an ounce of human comfort to be thrown his way.

Yet all he had in the world right now was the man sitting across from him, using his bowie knife to clean under his nails.

“He’s just a damn animal” Mickey mutters, but Ian knows he’s outwardly lying, his feelings towards the stallion were more than clear today.

After another long moment of silence, Ian shifts onto the ground, feeling some soft grass underneath his face instead of dirt for once, and he tries to be grateful for that.

He’s just about asleep, hoping he'll dream of home tonight, when he hears the other man speak again, who’s now shifting to lay down beside his resting horse.

His voice is uncertain, but clear.

“Thanks”.


	4. What's Mine

**Wild Country**

**New Mexico Territory**

“C’mon Gallagher, next town’s not far. Need to restock on some whiskey since you poured all mine out on my horse’s ass”.

Ian blinks and looks up through sleep blurred eyes as Mickey nudges him awake with his leather boot, albeit a little more gently this time.

“How’s he doing?” he asks with a tired yawn, stretching like an old tom cat once Mickey unties him from the tree. The hunter answers his question as an afterthought, “Don’t forget I got my Colt on you Gallagher. And good, I reckon” he says, tipping his head towards the animal rather casually.

Ian frowns, wondering why on Earth the hunter still finds it necessary to pretend like he doesn’t give a damn about anything. “You _reckon?_ Go look at the stitches. Or I can if you want”.

Mickey raises a dark eyebrow sharply at his disapproving tone, but then, after apparently taking Ian’s concern for the animal as likely to be legitimate, he goes over to inspect the wound himself. Clearly, he’s the type to pull out a bullet and spit in the wound though, because the look on his face says he has no idea what to look for.

“It’s not oozin or anythin”.

“Okay, that’s good. Just gotta make sure we keep it clean going forward” Ian reminds him, sitting down carefully and slowly in the grass so Mickey doesn’t feel the need to threaten him with the revolver again.  Mickey nods and then prods at the fire until it livens up again, before dragging over a small jackrabbit that he must have shot that morning.

“We’re gonna eat before we head out. Skin it and cook it Red” he commands.

While Ian cooks their small breakfast over the crackling fire on a makeshift spit, Mickey gently runs a straight razor down over his cheeks and chin, after procuring a bar of lye soap he uses to make a bit of a lather on his pale skin. Ian watches him with interest as he twists the young rabbit over the fire.

“You missed a spot”, he says as seriously as he can. Mickey looks over at him with a raised eyebrow as he touches around his handsome face to find said patch of missed stubble, but Ian accidently grins, giving himself away.

“Fuck off” the hunter grunts as he lowers his searching hand, but it looks like maybe, just _maybe,_ he’s trying not to smile.

Ian shakes his head and looks over at the creek, wondering why on earth he finds the man so attractive.

He’s wild, and dangerous, and a fucking asshole at times. He’s his captor for God’s sake. But he’s also mysterious, and intriguing, and perfectly built.

Shifting uncomfortably as he kneels by the fire, he tries not to think about the several long months that have passed since he was last with a man, and the longer days that have passed since he was last with his hand.

It was unnatural for him to go more than a day or two without a release, and being tied up so often across from a man he found desirable wasn’t helping.

What was worse still was the fact that he was wanting more attention from his own captor. Lip would have field day with that one. Always trying to find a reason for everything.

“Looks done, gimme that”.

Mickey’s gruff voice cuts his thoughts about his twisted attraction short, and Ian clears his throat as he reaches forward to take the portion of hot meat that Mickey offers him back. The juice from it dribbles down his chin as he eats, but he’s hungry and fresh meat is always a blessing. He licks his fingers clean of the tasty juices, only stopping when he notices Mickey shooting him an annoyed look.

“You’re a fuckin mess, you know that Gallagher?” he says, eyes drifting over him slowly. The remark wasn’t entirely meant to be hurtful, but it does piss him off.

Ian’s own eyes drop down to his dirty skin and stained clothing in annoyance, before he shoots back, “Oh, excuse me for not bathing in the creek when you so kindly offered. Dick”.

Mickey sniffs uncomfortably, “You know I gotta watch you if you do. Make sure you don’t try anything”. He clears his throat a bit, and picks at his teeth after he says this, now avoiding looking in Ian’s direction at all.

“And?” Ian asks indifferently.

He has a feeling ‘Mad Mick’ doesn’t normally give a shit about the condition his captives are in, but if he’s bending even a little bit towards lenience, Ian will take it. He might have to die, but he doesn’t have to live like a complete animal beforehand.

After a long moment of silence, the bounty hunter finally responds with a reluctant, “Alright then, Jesus”.

He turns slightly to keep his eyes on him, lifting his Colt .45 to show he’s still got it trained on Ian, who gives him a sidelong glance before he peels off his dirty clothes, and with a pleasured groan at the freedom, steps towards the creek’s pebbled edge.

He can feel the hunter’s haunting eyes burning into his bare back, and he shakes his head to control his own burning thoughts, stepping into the chilly water tentatively before he lowers himself to clean up.

“Can I wash my clothes too?” he asks without turning around, noticing that Mickey doesn’t offer him any lye soap.

“No. Shut up and take your bath. We gotta get moving”.

Well, he’ll take what he can get. Ian shuts up as per request and finishes rubbing his pale skin down with the cool creek water he cups in his palms, rinsing off the layers of dirt and dust he’d accumulated over the past several days.

It’s a pleasant, refreshing feeling, the only difficult part is not being able to rub his groin area clean, lest he get himself going.

He’s itching to just reach down and give himself a dozen quick jerks, that’s all it would probably take at this point for him to shoot a load, but he turns around instead, rubbing his hand through his wet red hair help dry it faster.  

“God dammit, put your fuckin pants on” the bounty hunter complains, but when Ian looks at him, he sees a pink flush in the man’s cheeks, and his hat is pulled down low.

“I am” he says, pulling on his trousers slowly over his damp body, wishing he could dry off in the warm sun first. “You decent?” Mickey asks after another minute or two.

“Yes” Ian answers half honestly. The bounty hunter lifts his head, and his eyes flicker slowly over Ian’s toned bare chest and then away again, as he turns his head. “Put on your shirt on”.

As they trek towards the nearest town, walking beside the esteemed horse Mickey still insists on giving a break, Ian can’t stop glancing over at him, and wondering.

Regardless of their circumstances, they were the only company each other had around 95% of the time. And Mickey was a bounty hunter, an occupation known for making a man live in solace. So why didn’t he ever show any interest in the eager whores at the saloons they passed by?

Strange.

Or maybe it’s not that strange, Ian thinks with a quiet sigh. Maybe he’s just trying to find something where there’s nothing. He chances another look over at Mickey.

Fuck he wants that man… wants to taste that mean mouth, pull something other than an insult or a threat from it…

**Stiff’s Post Settlement**

**New Mexico Territory**

By supper time, they are arriving in the smaller settlement of Stiff’s Post, and Mickey lowers his hat once more.

“After you Red” he says, subtly pressing his gun into Ian’s lower back when he pauses at the Stiff’s Saloon doors.

Ian bites his lip and pushes through the old batwing doors, but instead of walking over to the table, Mickey jerks his head towards the bar’s mostly empty length, “Take a seat”.

Ian looks over at him in surprise, but Mickey just raises an eyebrow sharply back at him, so Ian sits down, noticing Mickey leaves a deliberate space between them at the bar. Ian drums his fingers on the bar’s scratched surface as he waits, wondering what exactly Mickey’s playing at.

But the bounty hunter just looks at him in mild annoyance, “Try anything, and I’ll shoot you” he warns in a low voice.

Ian almost rolls his eyes at the unnecessary reminder, but when the old bartender comes over to serve them, wiping a dirty glass clean, Mickey clears his throat and surprises him yet again, “Fetch us some coffin varnish bar keep, one for me and one for Red here”.

The bartender’s eyes widen slightly at the sight of the infamous Mad Mick in his saloon, and he practically scrambles to pull two clean glasses together, “Yes, of course Mr. Milkovich. Here, this is our top brand, fine as cream gravy, for you and your companion”.

“That’s fine” Mickey says, dismissively waving his tattooed fingers so the man will take leave.

He doesn’t comment on buying Ian a drink, but Ian realizes this must be his way of thanking him for patching up Diablo, so he doesn’t say thank you either. Instead, he grips his glass of whiskey tightly in his hand, “People know you here” he comments.

It’s not just the bartender, other patrons are now talking a little quieter as well, and some are throwing glances over their way.

“People know me a little bit of everywhere” Mickey says with a shrug, downing his glass and signalling for another.

Ian on the other hand makes his last, sure he won’t get another. It’s harsh, but warming in his belly, and it makes his head feel a little funny. He’s used to the rough-cut stuff, not top-notch liquor.

Still, he can’t quite relax. He glances around nervously, “What if someone recognizes me?” he mutters.

Each day that passes, they get slightly closer to Colorado and Mickey has eyes on him now, curious onlookers wondering why the bounty hunter is passing through their settlement, but that also means their eyes are on Ian.

Mickey licks his lips indifferently, taking another gulp from his dwindling glass. “Don’t matter if they do, cowboy. They won’t mess with anything that’s mine”.

His blue eyes slide down the length up the bar and then up at Ian, a dark and unreadable expression in them.

Mine. Something about the way he said that word made a fire in Ian’s belly stronger than the whiskey did, and he fights the urge to drag Mickey outside and slam the other man up against the building, make him reverse the words as he brings him to his knees.

He responds as casually as he can. “So, I’m yours now huh?”

The bounty hunter turns in his seat, giving him a long and hard stare before he repeats, “Did you not hear me the first time Gallagher?”

Ian doesn’t answer, but just lifts his eyebrows subtly as he finishes his drink. Somehow, he has a feeling there’s a little more meaning to that statement than Mickey would admit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Old Western slang:
> 
> Coffin varnish- drinks were usually cut with turpentine, burnt sugar, gun powder etc. and were pretty harsh, hence ended up with nicknames like this.  
> Fine as cream gravy- whatever it's referring to, literally just high quality, top notch


	5. Blue Skies Arizona

**Wild Country**

**Apache, Arizona**

“Why are we still going West?” Ian asks with a frown, trying to bat away an annoying and persistent fly from his face as he trails beside Mickey and his horse.

It’s not easy when your hands are literally tied.

Mickey looks down at him and answers bluntly, “None of your damn business”.

“I’d say it is. You’re supposed to deliver me to Cripple Creek. If you were still planning on doing that, we would have started heading North days ago” Ian says somewhat smugly, feeling like he’s on to something.

Maybe Mickey had finally changed his mind about turning him in, realizing he was innocent of the crime.

But the ridiculous snort of amusement Mickey lets out in response to his comment quickly kills that hopeful theory, “Don’t worry Gallagher, I’ll still get you to the gallows on behalf of Miss Aileen”.

Fuck.

Ian sighs, “Can we at least stop for the night soon? My feet are fucking killing me”.

When they didn’t pass settlements or frontier towns to stop and get a drink in, Mickey tended to stay on the trail for longer, and it had been almost two entire days since Stiff’s Post.

“No, shut up and quit your damn bellyachin. Sun won’t be down for another two hours at least”.

Ian’s quiet for a moment, and then he clears his throat. If Mickey won’t let him stop and rest, he’ll just have to distract himself from his discomfort.

It’s been a while since he last sang, but nights at the Gallagher ranch often ended with Lip strumming on an old guitar while Ian and Debbie composed little ballads to entertain their family.

_“Blue skies, Arizona, long flight back home. Looks like they go on forever, I know they don’t”._

Mickey looks down at him with an incredulous look on his face, while Diablo swishes his tail contentedly, “What in the actual fuck do you think you’re doing?” the bounty hunter demands.

Ian pointedly ignores him, increasing his volume by another level, _“My heart's like this old suitcase… worn out, torn, and frayed. Can't hold what it used to…it's half empty anyway”._

Diablo tosses his mane and whickers at him in interest while Mickey lets out a loud and uncomfortable laugh, “I don’t know what the fuck you think your-“

Ian raises his damn voice right over him, _“YOU were wild when I met you, can’t say I wasn’t warned…”_

“Alright, alright! Jesus. Shut up! We can pull over here” Mickey grumbles, still shaking his head in disbelief.

Ian doesn’t care, he’s been told he had a pleasant voice on more than one occasion, but he also knows there’s no chance in hell of the bounty hunter admitting to enjoying his little ballad while they walk through wild country.

“Your horse liked it” Ian says, as Mickey ties the stallion to a tree in the shade. The bounty hunter rolls his blue eyes as if he’s exasperated, but once again, Ian’s certain there’s a faint smiling hiding on those well-formed lips.

Ian sits down against the tree, making it easy for Mickey to retie him. He watches as Mickey settles onto the soft grass a few feet away after he pulls out some corn shucks and a small leather pouch of Lone Jack tobacco from his saddle bag.

He deftly rolls a few quirlys, before pulling out and striking a match to light one of them, “Ahh, that’s good” he says around the cigarette in contentment, “Missed this”. He must have gotten the supplies from the general store they passed back in Lost Water.

Ian wantonly licks his lips before he asks, “What does a cowboy have to do for one of those?”

Mickey raises an eyebrow at him, “What can you do?” he asks, putting the cigarette back between his lips. Ian thinks hard, eyes searching the other man’s. He knows what he’d like to offer, but it’s too fucking risky.

“Saving your horse isn’t enough?”

“You already got a drink for that”.

Knew it.

Before he has a chance to come up with another argument as to why he deserves a smoke however, Mickey is gruffly approaching him, holding out a hand rolled cigarette for his deprived lips to accept.

Ian lets out a little groan of pleasure after his first deep inhale, it had been too damn long since he had a decent smoke. When he’s done with the corn shuck cigarette, spitting the butt out and away from himself, he fixes his eyes on the bounty hunter again, who is now on his second and absentmindedly tugging at some grass.

“Why do you kill half the men you travel with? Why would you do that, if you only care about the money? You get more bringing us in alive” Ian asks curiously.

Mickey blinks, looking startled at the unexpected question. “Some of them deserve it. Others…I only kill em when I have to” he mutters after a while, turning away to get something from Diablo’s saddlebag.

Ian tries to hide the disapproval in his voice, “Have to? What the fuck does that even mean?”

But Mickey doesn’t seem fazed, he just answers plainly.

“A man has secrets to keep Gallagher. And when someone finds them out, and threatens to spill the beans if you don’t let em go, it’s an easy choice. And like I said, some of them just deserve it. Kid fuckers, women killers. Easy choice”.

Ian swallows hard, focusing on only one part of that ill-shared confession, “What’s your secret?”

Mickey turns around and spits to the dirt, avoiding his gaze, “Nothin worth telling”. He seems to already regret opening his mouth.

“Then I won’t tell if I know it, right?” Ian presses, but the bounty hunter is shaking his head and visibly getting annoyed, “I’d appreciate if you’d stop acting like you’d like to get to know me Red. Let’s not pretend. I’m the bounty hunter that’s bringing you in, and you wish I was dead as a doornail”.

“That’s…not exactly true” Ian states carefully, and it’s not. If it came down to it, yes, he’d rather Mickey would die than him, but he’d much prefer if things could be different…

Mickey gets on his level, grabbing his chin roughly as he forces him to make eye contact, his temper is flashing in his blue eyes, “You know who I am? I’m fucking _Mad Mick,_ I kill sorry bastards like you for a living. And I _like_ it. I killed my own father without a damn ounce of remorse, and I’d do it again. And if you don’t shut your damn mouth, I’ll kill you next”.

Ian swallows hard, turning his head away to hide the hurt in his eyes, and this time Mickey lets him. The bounty hunter leaves after a while with Diablo, presumably to hunt something for dinner, and Ian is left alone in the shade for the next half hour to or so to sulk until he hears footsteps and hooves coming up behind him.

He assumes it’s just Mickey returning, until he hears them speak.

“Well, what do we have here boys?”

The unfamiliar drawl makes Ian’s eyes widen, and he whips his head around to try and see who’s coming up behind him, his heart sinking as he spies three sleazy looking outlaws raising their eyebrows at him with extreme interest.

“Lookit his red hair Jim, he’s that Gallagher boy. Worth six hundred up in Cripple. I heard Mad Mick was bringing him in” one of them points, coming up to him excitedly.

“No I’m not” Ian lies. His own red hair was quickly becoming his worst enemy. Fucking Frank.

‘Jim’ sneers at his denial, “Then why you tied up?”

“Funny story actually…” Ian glances around desperately, wondering where the hell the violent bounty hunter is when you need him. Mickey might be planning on bringing him to his death too, but at least Ian knew his threats. These three looked a lot less reasonable.

“You can tell us it on the way to Cripple Creek”, one of the dirty men unties Ian from the tree and yanks him by the rope, “Let’s get out of here before that crazy son o’ a bitch comes back”.

“No, no…stop!”

Panic races through Ian’s veins as they start to bind his arms more tightly around his chest, before quickly hauling him up on a horse to take him away.

As soon as the man he’s sharing a horse with cracks the reigns harshly, and the animal starts to bolt, Ian yells as loud as his constricted lungs will allow, “MICKEY! MICKEY!”

A dirty handkerchief is stuffed in his mouth just a few seconds later to silence him, Ian jostling wildly in the saddle as the horse he’s on runs over uneven ground, and tears prick in his eyes as the nasty taste touches his tongue.

The outlaws ride for what feels like hours, Ian trying to entire time to breathe through his nose and not vomit, as fear and the intense smell of his new captor nauseates him deeply.

He never thought he’d miss Mickey’s scent… tobacco, sometimes whiskey, lye, and Diablo.

By the time the outlaws make camp for the night in a dark and unfamiliar place, he is utterly exhausted and feeling more hopeless than ever.

The outlaws push him off the horse and right to the hard ground without letting him land on his feet, before roughly dragging him over to a tree, and throwing him against it so hard that his skull slams against the trunk.

The harsh contact only makes his head spin more, and he finally retches, vomiting down his shirt. Jim only laughs and shoves the acidic handkerchief back in his bitter tasting mouth.

Gagged and bound, Ian listens as they casually talk about all sorts of twisted and horrifying things, and he finds himself thinking that these are the kind of men Mickey would hunt down and kill. Lawless, _ruthless,_ and with no respect for the innocent.

He never thought he’d think of Mickey as some sort of hero, but if he truly believed Ian was like one of these men… well, maybe he wasn’t such an asshole after all for trying to bring him in and make him pay his dues.

Tears prick the corners of Ian’s weary eyes as he leans back against the tree he’s bound to, wishing up to the stars twinkling above him in the deep and endless Arizona night sky.

God save my sorry ass, he thinks miserably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Old Western Slang:
> 
> Quirlys- what cowboys called their homemade cigarettes


	6. All Down But Nine

**Wild Country**

**Somewhere Near Leslie Canyon, Arizona**

Ian can hardly breathe by the time morning rolls around, because the filthy handkerchief stuffed into his mouth the night before had been replaced with a suffocating rope that’s cutting brutally into the corners of his chapped lips, and his nostrils are partially blocked with dried and crusted blood. Not to mention he had been placed in such a way so that he is now sitting directly in the harsh sun, so tightly bound his blood is having trouble circulating properly.

Woozy, he watches through slightly blurry eyes as the outlaws eat their breakfast by the fire, offering him nothing, not even a sip of water to wet his throat. They laugh drunkenly, already dipping into their whiskey even though its not yet noon, and shove each other around, guffawing about what they’ll do with the money they make turning Ian in.

His tired eyes are just about to close again to conserve some energy when he thinks he hears the sound of hooves in the distance.

 _I’m just imagining things,_ he thinks weakly, _If this is how they’ll keep me, I’ll die before we even get to Colorado._

But the steady sound seems to quickly grow louder…and then as the familiar loud and echoing, _“Yah, Diablo! Yah!”_ rings confidently over the land, Ian’s eyes widen with hope.

Ian’s three captors at the fire start to swear and desperately scramble for their guns, realizing they are under attack right as Ian does, but it’s already too late.

Before they are even aiming for Mickey, he whips out his Colt .45 from its holster and shoots the first one dead, right through the sorry chest without a moment of hesitation.

He then drives Diablo in increasingly wide circles around the other two, still encouraging the horse to go faster so they can’t take aim at him as he whips up a hazy and suffocating cloud of dust around then.

Back to back with each other, they both attempt to aim and fire their pistols at Mickey, but they are already partially drunk, and their aim is worse than usual. They swear in absolute panic as both their shots miss. This is a short game of speed and accuracy, and they are no match for the infamous bounty hunter of the Wild West.

Hope blooms in Ian’s heaving chest and his green eyes dart rapidly between the two remaining outlaws and the bounty hunter, who’s smile fucking rivals the Arizona sun as he aims his Colt .45 steady and fires again, striking the man who had gagged Ian right in the middle of his scarred forehead.

The last outlaw immediately drops his pistol at the sight of his now second deceased partner, and sinking to his knees, he raises his hands and trembles as he calls out pathetically, “Take him! Just fuckin take him! Don’t kill me!”

Mickey finally slows Diablo, letting him continue to pace in front of the sorry bastard while the dust settles, but the bounty hunter just shakes his head while the man waits for a response, a small sadistic smile on his perfect lips.

“See, the thing is, I can’t very well do that now, can I? You stole what’s mine. And no one, _no one,_ fucking steals from Mad Mick and lives to tell about it”.

He snarls the last line before one final shot echoes through the air, and the last outlaw falls dead.

Mickey sits upon his horse for a half moment longer, spitting into the dirt before he slides off his stallion and walks towards Ian, who practically has tears in his panicked eyes as Mickey ungags him.

“Mick…” he whispers, trying to find words to express his relief while the bounty hunter works to saw through the harsh ropes cutting off his circulation, “Mickey”.

“Shhh Gallagher” Mickey mutters, “This ain’t exactly a rescue”.

But his blue eyes flicker upwards anyways, and meet Ian’s.

Ian’s desperate fear is reflected in his irises, and Mickey swallows hard, holding his heavy gaze as he undoes the final knot. Heart thudding in his chest, Ian tries to reach forward and touch Mickey’s face in thanks as soon as his hands are freed, but dehydrated and severely weakened, he doesn’t quite make it.

The last thing he sees before he blacks out cold is Mickey reaching out with his arm to keep him from falling.

-

Ian’s senses kick in slowly when he comes to.

First, he feels a comforting warmth on his face, and he becomes aware of the grass he’s lying on, the scent of damp earth filling his nostrils at the same time. Then he hears the snapping fire, and Diablo’s familiar affectionate whicker to his master.

Opening his eyes a small crack, he sees the bounty hunter sitting on the other side of the fire across from him, silent, watching his face in the flickering firelight.

Ian swallows hard before he opens his eyes the rest of the way, holding the gaze of the man across from him more fully. Mickey blinks and looks down to the ground, breaking their gaze, his wide-brimmed Stetson hat now hiding his face and whatever thoughts are running across it.

The silence seems to last forever, before Mickey says in a voice that Ian thinks sounds bitter, “You know this doesn’t change anything”.

“Things have changed” Ian immediately answers, his voice cracking slightly.

Mickey just shakes his head as he tosses over a water skin, and Ian feels tears prick at his eyes again as he catches it, “How can you drag me along like this, knowing you’re bringing me to my death. You might as well dig my grave in the bone orchard Mickey. I have a fucking family you know”.

Mickey suddenly looks up at him, and maybe it’s the fire, maybe it’s his imagination, but he swears he sees guilt in those haunted blue eyes. “You have children?” he asks quietly.

“No…brothers, sisters…I’m not a married man. I never will be” Ian says carefully as he drinks from the skin, not alluding to whether that has anything to do with his death sentence or not. There wasn’t exactly pressure for a bachelor to get married in the West, because plenty of men had occupations that prevented it.

Mickey takes his comment the wrong way. “I’m not the one who gets to decide if you’re guilty or not, and I’m damn sure not the one who knows what actually happened that night in Cripple Creek. So quit talking to me like I am” he says in annoyance, scuffing his boot against the dirt in agitation.

“Then why did you save me? Why do you keep saying I’m yours?” Ian demands, trying to control his temper.

“You’re just a damn paycheque to me Gallagher. A way to fatten my pocket” the bounty hunter spits. 

“I don’t think that’s true” Ian says bitterly, but he’s careful not to say anything more once he sees a familiar flare-up of almost fearful anger in Mickey’s blue eyes. It’s like he’s a cornered animal deciding if he needs to strike, or retreat for his own safety, and it makes Ian even more desperate to understand him. To know if he's like him.  

But the bounty hunter ends up retreating, getting up from the fire to disappear into the darkness without another word as Ian watches him leave with a heavy heart. 

-

“Why didn’t you take their horses?” Ian finally asks, breaking his resolve to stay aloof and attempting to make normal conversation after hours of silence between the two men as they continued to travel through Arizona.

Mickey had simply cut the horses' ties that morning before they left, slapped their rumps so they would run, and watched them disappear. Yet he had taken the outlaw’s other supplies that would be useful, such as alcohol, dried preserved food and otherwise, so it didn’t make sense to Ian to not take at least one of the animals.

And as much as he wanted to be annoyed at the bounty hunter, he still felt a gnawing need to understand him. And God, he still wanted him. Feeling physically better again, he's reminded more than ever of his pressing physical need.

If he could have just one thing before he would die, it would be that man’s lips around his-

Mickey looks over at him, “I don’t ride another man’s horse. It’s like wearing another man’s hat. You just don’t do it”.

Ian finds his lips crack into a smile at the bounty hunter’s logic, “Yeah well maybe I would have liked to ride a horse to my impending death, rather than walk. It’s very tiring you know”. At least he’s not tied to the horse right now, Mickey had without much comment just instructed him to walk alongside Diablo when they left their makeshift camp that morning, while he rested his Colt .45 on his thigh pointed in his direction, and that was enough of a restraint not to run.

Mickey quickly glances over again, the relief obvious on his face that Ian had resumed his normal albeit somewhat darkly humorous attitude. He then glances at the narrowing road ahead of them, nodding his head meaningfully, “Well then cowboy, you’ll be happy to know we ain’t going much farther”.

Ian follows his eyes to the wooden post, and the words written above it.

**The Town of Tombstone,**

**Arizona**

“Tombstone?” Ian asks in confusion, with no verbal response from the bounty hunter. As they walk into Tombstone’s dusky streets, it’s few residents that are still outside stop and openly stare.

And when they pass right by someone, the person says in a slightly awed tone, “Well I’ll be, Mad Mick’s come home again”. Mickey’s only response is to tip his head in confirmation, but Ian instantly becomes aware of the hush that has fallen over the streets.

 _So, this is where you’re from_ , he thinks, looking at Mickey curiously. Tombstone Arizona, the town too tough to die. Famous for it’s lack of laws and frequent gunfights, it's no surprise the violent bounty hunter was born and raised here.

Mickey waits until they are past the main street and well away from curious ears or eyes before he signals for Ian to give him his wrists, “Why are we here?” Ian asks curiously.

“Business” is all Mickey says, cutting him off when he tries to talk again, “Hands”. 

Ian reluctantly offers him his wrists, and then Mickey is leading both him and the horse down a road he seems to be familiar with. Ian eventually sees a small house in the distance, run down and dilapidated, with a barn in similar condition built beside it.

There’s a light on inside though, and when the front door opens and a dark-haired woman comes running out, absolutely beaming at the sight of Mickey walking up the road, Ian gets a feeling that this is his house, and that must be his…

Wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or is it? Ended up having to split this chapter unfortunately but the next one has some information on 'Mad' Mick's origins before the story takes a bit of a turning point :) If you like the story so far please leave a kudos & thanks to everyone leaving comments :) 
> 
> Old Western Slang:  
> All down but nine- missed the point  
> Bone Orchard- cemetery


	7. Dyed In The Wool

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Old Western Slang for this chapter:
> 
> Dyed in the wool- thoroughly ingrained (referring to Mickey's character here)  
> Pass the buck- evade responsibility  
> Up the spout- in this instance, imprisoned  
> bluestone- lowest quality whiskey or gin
> 
> *some disturbing themes in this chapter, but they don't go into great detail*

**The Town of Tombstone,**

**Arizona**

The pretty dark-haired woman throws her arms around Mickey’s neck, kissing his cheek fondly, while simultaneously completely ignoring Ian. He feels a surge of unreasonable jealousy at the way she so easily touches the evasive bounty hunter, but he bites his tongue.

He can’t imagine why Mickey brought him here.

“Why didn’t you pass word you were comin home?” the woman asks excitedly, as she grips Mickey’s strong arms. But he doesn’t mince words, he cuts right to the chase.

“Something came up” he answers, nudging his head towards Ian.

Following Mickey’s directive nod, the woman gives Ian a sweeping once over with her sharp blue eyes, but then frowns as she takes in his bound wrists.

Recognition flickers across her face slowly, and then she’s talking about him animatedly, as if he’s not even there.

“That’s that Gallagher boy, isn’t it! Mickey I don’t want him here! Son of a bitch, I heard he-“

 _Here we fucking go again_ … Ian flushes red at her disgusted tone, while feeling the immense dislike from her emanating towards him. He hated knowing what people thought of him now that he had been unfairly marked as a wanted man.

But Mickey cuts the woman off before she can finish her little rant about what an evil bastard Ian must be, “Mandy, shut up and go put the kettle on, okay? I’m gonna put Diablo in the barn and then we can talk”. 

‘Mandy’ looks annoyed for a minute, but she flounces off again towards the house without another word, while Ian dejectedly follows Mickey to the barn, watching as he pours out fresh water and hay for Diablo as the sun goes down.

“That your wife?” he asks after a few moments of silence. Between them anyways, there’s two other horses in the barn that continue to periodically neigh at the bounty hunter for attention, clearly recognizing him.

Mickey snorts at the question, “No, sister. I’m not tied to anything but Diablo here” he answers, giving the horse a fond pat on the neck. 

That fact should bring Ian more comfort than it does, yet at this very moment, his longing for the other man to want him back is smothered by an even stronger need.

For him to believe him.

“I’m not trying to pass the buck. I didn’t do it” Ian says, his voice firm but shaky. Mickey looks up at him once he finishes with Diablo’s feed, blue eyes searching green, but he doesn’t say anything.

Ian continues miserably, “I don’t know if you’re planning on staying the night here, but I don’t want your sister to be scared, thinking I’m gonna fucking sneak in her room and-“

It’s like his words cause the other man to snap, his previously subdued attitude disappearing in an instant.

“Shut up or I’ll cut your fucking tongue out” Mickey snarls, advancing on Ian and grabbing him roughly against the scruff of his neck before pushing him up against the barn wall, “Talk about her like that again and I’ll…”

But he trails off almost immediately, swallowing hard as Ian’s fearful yet lust-filled green eyes flicker down to his parted lips. Ian can’t help it, he wonders yet again what that mouth would feel like against his own.

Mickey releases his angered hold, stepping away from Ian as he breathes out heavily, and for a moment Ian wonders if he wants him to pull him back in… but the bounty hunter just spits to the side bitterly and then tips his head before he commands, “Walk”.

Ian walks up to the house with him, biting his lip when Mickey’s sister eyes him warily as they come inside. The look in her eyes makes him feel sick, knowing what she’s thinking.

Mickey pushes him into a small bedroom off the kitchen with no windows, but he pauses before he closes the door, and his tone is even again, “You can…you can lay down on the bed if you want. I need to discuss some things with my sister. We’ll stay here tonight”.

Ian nods slowly, watching Mickey disappear behind the wooden door as it closes with a click. He takes his Stetson hat off and hangs it on a hook near the door, glancing around at the spare items hung on the walls. A few furs, an animal skull. A lantern lighting the room. There’s a small clothing drawer too, and as Ian continues to look around he realizes this is Mickey’s room.

Or it used to be, anyways. Seemed like he lived a life on the road these days, with no set waypoint. _Not tied to anything,_ as he had said.

Gently easing himself onto the old bed, Ian sees the word _MAD_ carved into the wall over and over again behind him. He traces one gingerly with his finger for a moment, wondering what drove the man crazy enough in this very room to mark up his walls with a bowie knife in such a disturbing way.

He takes his dirty shirt off before he lies down for a rest on the stiff bed, but once he’s still, he can hear the quiet conversation in the kitchen between the brother and sister. He tries to still his breathing even more so he can hear it more clearly.

It’s Mickey talking first, “Where’s Iggy these days?”

“Up the spout again” his sister answers drily.

Mickey sighs, “Idiot. He’s lucky I haven’t been hired to drag his cattle thieving ass in yet. What’s this whiskey cut with? Tastes like shit”.

Ian can almost picture the grimace that must be on Mickey's face right now, and despite his situation, he finds himself smiling.

She snorts, “It’s not cut, it’s bluestone”.

“Jesus. Don’t waste my money on that shit” Mickey chuckles. Ian can picture that too, and the way his blue eyes light up when he finds something amusing.

She speaks next, and her tone shifts to one of annoyance, “Speaking of, wanna explain the redhead in your bedroom right now Mick? A man like that should be strung up and left for the buzzards to pick clean. Hope keepin him alive is worth a little extra reward money. You know how much it upsets me having him here”.

There’s a pause, and then Mickey’s voice is lower again, “I don’t know Mandy”.

“You don’t know what?” she asks apprehensively.

“If he’s guilty or not. Somethin about him, just makes me think he’s not the sort to do that”.

Ian’s heart thuds a little more loudly in his chest. Maybe he wasn’t imagining things. Maybe Mickey did see him differently after everything that had happened as they traveled through the West. He wishes he could see the other man's face right now.

“No offence Mickey, but any man with a dick between his legs is the sort to do that. Other than…”

Another silence.

“Oh….do you know for sure?” she asks, her voice extremely hushed.

“No” Mickey sighs, “Wouldn’t matter if I did. He’s a dead man Mandy, either way. If I don’t bring him in, someone else will. Almost forgot, I brought you some money to tide you over for the next few months”.

Ian’s heart is still thudding in his chest as he tries to understand the context of the mostly whispered conversation. What do they mean, know _what_ for sure?

“Thanks Mick. It’s too risky anyways. On the off chance he is guilty, you can’t let him walk. I still don’t want him sleeping inside tonight either, you can stay with him out in the barn”.

“I will, and yeah, I know. Just don’t much like gambling with a man’s life”.

“Did something happen between-“ her voice gets so quiet, that Ian can’t hear the rest of the conversation, and he almost shouts in frustration. He is fucking _innocent,_ why is that so damn hard to believe? Just because some girl said he wasn’t?

He can’t hear any more of the conversation between the siblings after that.

The room turns pitch black as night falls, but when the door creaks open and the room lights up again from a new lantern, Ian quickly turns to see who it is. To his surprise, the sister is coming into the room, offering him a plate with piece of cornbread on it.

Ian takes it carefully, nodding his thanks.

“You’re a handsome man, Ian Gallagher” she says, crossing her arms and looking at him critically. Ian blushes a bit, hopeful her opinion of him has changed, “Thanks, and thank you for the cornbread. It’s good”.

She ignores his comment, “I’ve got a gun” she informs him, showing him the pistol she had hidden in her dress when she came in.

“Okay…” Ian stops chewing, but she shakes her head. “Just saying. Mick’s in the barn. I’m watchin you til he gets back, but I’m as good a gunslinger as he is. Had to be”. She sits down on the edge of the bed, but when she looks up at him again her blue eyes are filled with tears, and Ian is startled.

He puts the plate down, scared he did something wrong. If Mickey thinks he did something to her, he’ll kill him for sure. He suddenly wishes he had left his shirt on.

“Ian Gallagher, I’m gonna ask you one time. And if I think you’re lying to me, I’ll shoot you myself, you hear? Do you know why they call my brother Mad Mick?”

Ian nods slowly, “He…killed your dad, didn’t he? Before he became a bounty hunter. But it seems like…like you forgave him for it”.

Her eyes are still glistening with angry tears, “Forgave him for it? I thanked him for it, Ian Gallagher. My daddy did to me every day what Aileen Hossman says you did to her. And he’d lock Mick in here, and make him listen”.

Ian swallows hard. His eyes flicker over to the tortured carvings in the wall, _MAD_ , over and over again, and he suddenly realizes the script is almost childlike.

Mandy continues her story, “But one day, one day when Mick was fifteen he shot him dead, while he was sittin at the table eating cornbread, just like you are now, so he could never hurt me again”.

Ian’s throat tightens at the implication, every impression he’d had of ‘Mad’ Mick shattering with this new information. He wasn’t crazy. But only she knew that.

He was an infuriated man, exacting revenge on any man he felt deserved it, for the sake of his sister, and in memory of his savage father.

“So I’ll ask you Ian Gallagher, did you try and rape that girl?”

Ian wants so badly to reach out and give the young woman a hug, give her some comfort. She reminds him of his own sisters back home in this moment, but lost and scared, and it makes his heart ache.

“No Miss, I didn’t” he answers honestly, his voice wavering with the truth. 

She nods, and Ian’s eyes widen as she lifts the pistol to aim it as his head.

“Then maybe it’s kinder I kill you now”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger! I'll try and update again soon, sorry to leave it at this point! Ian always getting himself into trouble lol


	8. Not According to Hoyle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This chapter is R rated and explicit**  
> (Yep we finally reached that point)
> 
> Also, some slang:  
> "according to hoyle" was slang for doing something correct, or by the book  
> pull the wool over one's eyes- deceive them  
> full drive- at full speed, executed with everything you've got ;)  
> Hankering - To have an incessant wish, strong desire, longing.

**The Milkovich Homestead**

**Tombstone, Arizona**

Ian raises a hand in front of himself slowly, his eyes desperately pleading with the woman as he simultaneously tries to keep his voice calm and steady, “Please, miss, don’t shoot me”.

The whole thing almost feels ridiculous. Here he is shirtless in his captor’s bed, while the bounty hunter’s sister of all people aims a gun to his temple, more than ready to split his skull in two.

Her voice is surprisingly calm and cool as she explains herself, while never lowering her Deringer pistol from being aimed at his forehead, “I’m not offering because I don’t like you Ian Gallagher, I’m offering because it’s the kinder thing. You die here tonight, and I can make it instant and painless. If you wait until you’re turned in, there’s just no telling what they’ll do to you first”.

Ian starts to open his mouth again to plead his case, but before he can get another word out, Mickey appears in the bedroom doorway.

His blue eyes flash like hot fire for just an instant before he lunges for his sister and wrestles the pistol from her hands, all the while hollering, “Mandy you goddamn crazy bitch, I told you to feed him and watch him, not wave a fucking gun in his face!”

Mandy remains calm as ever, even without the Deringer in her hands. She just rolls her eyes, and crosses her arms at her older brother after she half-heartedly gives him a shove, “I was just making him an offer, one I think he’d be wise to accept. You know damn well as I do Mick that one way or another he’ll end up in Hossman’s hands, whether its you handing him in or not, and what they do to him won’t be pretty. This is easier, for you too Mick” she says softly.

The bounty hunter runs a tattooed hand down over his face, looking extremely agitated by the apparent truth of her statement, “That’s not…that’s not your decision to make”. It appears he isn’t willing to face the reality of the situation, or maybe he doesn’t know how he feels about it yet. Or maybe he does…but he’s not quite ready to admit to it.

She shrugs, but casts a knowing glance between them, and after a moment of silence Mickey just shakes his head and reaches out to grab Ian’s arm, with a gentle yet firm, “C’mon, we’re sleepin in the barn tonight”.

His heart still racing from his near-death experience, Ian stumbles along after Mickey in the near pitch-black darkness out towards the barn, and its not until Mickey pushes him down to sit in front of a wooden support and begins to tie him up again that his thoughts snap together.

“You know I didn’t do it. You don’t want me to die” he says, looking up at the bounty hunter in disbelief. He had hoped before, but seeing the look in Mickey’s eyes now confirm _s_ what he had thought may be true as the days stretched on.

“It doesn’t matter what I want, Gallagher” Mickey says softly, his eyes searching Ian’s as he stays crouched in front of him. A few strong drinks in, and his honesty shines through a lot more easily. His want to stay close to Ian, even when it’s not necessary anymore, does too.

The look in his eyes is longing, for something he thinks he can’t have, and maybe it took Mandy waving a gun in front of Ian’s face for him to realize it, but he clearly does now. There’s no other reason for him to look into Ian’s eyes for so long, slightly tipsy, but still entirely there in the moment.

Ian’s heart feels like it might very well jump right out from his chest, from fear, from want, and even though he’s restricted by the ropes, he can pull forward just enough to pause an inch from Mickey’s face. The other man freezes and holds his breath. Ian prays he isn’t wrong.

“What do you want then?” he asks slowly, his eyes travelling from Mickey’s blue eyes, down to his perfect lips, and then up again.

“I can’t do this” Mickey exhales, “It won’t change anything, you know. What my sister said was true”. But the desire in his eyes is clear, and Ian knows that if he doesn’t go for it now, he may never get another chance with the bounty hunter’s guard being this low.

It was taboo to be with another man, unacceptable, and it would ruin ‘Mad’ Mick’s reputation and career for life if it was ever found out he willingly rolled in the hay with a man.

But Ian wasn’t blind to the signs of want, and even Mickey himself didn’t seem to be in denial anymore of their obvious attraction to each other.

“For one night, just one night, forget about everything outside of this barn. Tonight, just do what you want to, with me…” Ian says, before he bravely closes the gap between them.

His cheeks flush when the bounty hunter doesn’t pull away from the light contact, and a fire builds in his gut from the very moment they connect, the built up sexual tension between them feeding the intensity of the kiss.

Mickey’s parted lips are surprisingly soft, and warm, and he opens and closes them to Ian’s eagerly, a low sound of want stemming from deep in his throat as they continue to kiss.

Ian wants so badly to reach out and touch Mickey’s face, pull him in closer, but his arms are bound to his sides and he becomes more and more aware of that the longer and harder they kiss for. He pulls away a bit to speak, “Untie me” he whispers into the other man’s lips.

His words make the bounty hunter stiffen and pull back, and there’s now an intense suspicion in his eyes.

“I’m not trying to pull the wool over your eyes, I swear. You can leave me tied if you want. I just want to feel you” Ian quickly explains, his mind rapidly trying to backtrack for a solution. God forbid he fuck this up now. He glances down and see’s Mickey’s obvious arousal in his trousers, so he offers up a new solution.

“Leave me tied if you have to. Just… let me have you in my mouth at least”.

Mickey’s eyebrow flickers in interest and he quickly starts to undo his trousers, as Ian licks his lips in anticipation, but then the bounty hunter pauses again, “You bite me, and I swear to god I’ll blow your damn brains out”.

Ian laughs softly, “I’m gonna be the only one blowing. C’mere”. He opens his mouth and waits as Mickey hesitantly removes his hard cock from his trousers, standing to carefully level himself with Ian’s mouth, but before he can waste any more time worrying if Ian is just trying to deceive him or not, the redhead stretches his neck forward and takes Mickey into his mouth eagerly.

He moans around the warm heaviness on his tongue, and Mickey immediately forgets his fears and steps forward, leaning one hand up on the wooden support Ian’s tied to, and dropping the other one down beside his face as he pushes himself in a little deeper.

Ian turns his head a bit to feel Mickey’s hand against his cheek, and Mickey follows his lead, moving his hand around to hold the side of Ian’s face as Ian takes him deeper over his tongue and into his throat. Moving his head back and forth as much as he can, he puts his weeks of sexual frustration into pleasuring the other man, and from the sounds Mickey is making, its paying off.

Almost as wonderful as having the smooth and solid cock in his mouth, is the feeling of comfort he’s deriving from the hand softly resting against his cheek, he’d ached for more than just fucking the bounty hunter, he’d ached for the affection he needed from another human being.

Painfully stiff in his own trousers, Ian hums around Mickey’s erection as he tries to rut upwards a bit to bring himself some much-needed physical relief.

“Gallagher…” Mickey groans. Moving to lean against the wooden post Ian’s tied to, he starts to gently rolls his hips into his mouth. Ian pauses for a moment, surprised, for he’s never experienced something quite like this before.

But he likes it…he closes his eyes and moans around Mickey’s thickness again, hollowing and sucking in his cheeks as Mickey slides his cock in and out of his mouth with more ardor. 

“Can you catch cowboy?” Mickey pants, licking his lips and looking down at him. Ian nods, never breaking eye contact, and that’s when he sees Mickey’s face strain and then bliss out, right as he gets a mouthful of the other man’s milk.

Mickey practically falls away from him once he's done, the two of them panting and staring at each other in the intensity of the after-moment. Maybe Mickey was a little drunker than Ian had realized, but there was no slurring any of those words.

His eyes finally fall to Mickey’s still exposed cock, getting a good look at it now, he can appreciate it for what it is. Long and thick, almost as his, and still wet with his own saliva.

He squirms a bit in his bonds, “Are you gonna-“ Mickey immediately shakes his head, spitting into the hay behind himself before he says gruffly, “I don’t do that”.

Ian’s mouth practically drops open in disappointment, “Hand?” he asks desperately. 

Mickey looks hesitant, and then Ian practically fumes, “If you leave me sitting here leaking in my trousers so help me-“

“That’s not what I want” Mickey interrupts, still eyeing Ian’s obvious erection through the giving material of his canvas trousers.

There’s a moment of silence before he starts to approach Ian in a certain way, “If I untie you-“

Now it’s Ian’s turn to interrupt, and he grinds his hips upwards again as much as he can in his sexual frustration, “If you untie me, I’ll fuck you so good, you’ll be saying you’re _mine_ ”.

He knows he’s taking a chance, he doesn’t know what Mickey’s preference is, but he knows his, and he’s willing to gamble for it.

Mickey’s eyes flash fire at his cheeky comment… before he almost aggressively drops to untie him, fumbling with the ropes as Ian continues to drive his hips upwards as much as he can.

Bless the fucking stars this was finally happening.

As soon as his arms are free from the confining ropes, Ian lunges for Mickey’s shirt to rip it off while Mickey undoes his belt with a snap and tosses it to the side. Ian can't remember even feeling more desperate to feel someone's warm skin beneath his fingertips.

They are pushing and shoving each other so much as they make their way over to the blanket Mickey had meant to bed on for the night, that it almost feels like that first fight they had when Ian tried to cut and run, but there’s no running now.

All he wants is to be closer, so much fucking closer.

Mickey gets on his hands and knees on the woollen blanket, tossing his hat away last before he looks back over his shoulder, “You better go full drive cowboy, I’m not fuckin kidding” he says warningly.

What he means is, this better be worth the fucking risk.

Ian presses himself up behind him, spitting down his crack before he spreads his legs and digs his fingers into one of Mickey’s fleshy cheeks, “Wouldn’t do nothin less”.

Just the sight in front of him positioned like that is almost enough to make Ian spurt after the past week of absolutely no relief.

The bounty hunter that had been threatening his damn life is now offering himself ass first, and a round, full ass it is, and waiting for Ian to bury himself up to the hilt in it.

“You like fingers first or?”

“Just get on with it Gallagher, Jesus".

The bounty hunter is starting to sound annoyed, so Ian spits down again and lines himself up, gently rubbing his erection up and down against the other man’s impatient ass before he pushes the tip inside.

“ _Fuck_ ” Mickey grunts, his shoulders tightening as Ian continues to push, but he never says stop, and soon he lets out a gasp that tells Ian he’s got free range over him.

Ian thrusts in and out of him fully, relishing in the intense pleasure washing over his entire body as the strong muscles inside Mickey surround his length just right.

And the tight heat, god did he forget how incredible that felt.

“I’ve had a hankering to do this since I first met you” he pants, biting his lip and looking at the back of Mickey’s dark head.

He’d love to see those sharp blue eyes breaking from the pleasure his dick being inside him brings, but he knows Mickey won’t give him that much power.

Not the first time anyways.

He already hopes there’s another.

“Yeah?” Mickey looks over his shoulder, his lips slightly parted and his brow furrowed in concentration as Ian thrusts into him, harder and harder. “Wasn’t always my revolver poking you” he says slyly.

Ian freezes for a moment, and then shakes his head in disbelief. Jesus he was a numb skull sometimes.

He keeps reaching down to tug at his testicles, but the tension in them is heapin, and he knows he won’t last much longer.

“C’mon!” he growls, smacking Mickey’s ass. Really he just wants the other man to finish again before he does.

His hand leaves an angry red print, and his wish is granted as the bounty hunter shoves double back into his thrusts, the two of them getting louder and rougher with each other as they both approach their climaxes.  

“Can I finish in you?” Ian barely manages to get out, losing it by the second. But before Mickey can get his _“No”_ out, Ian orgasms while he’s still inside his ass, the power of his pent-up release practically knocking him on his own.

Panting and flushed as he sits back, he’s pleased to see Mickey had also orgasmed for a second time, although his streaks the hay beneath them.

“God that was just incredible…hey, what’s that on your chest?“

Ian squints in the faint lantern light as Mickey turns still naked to face him, but the bounty hunter quickly pushes him away.

“Get off” he grumbles, covering the mark with his entire hand, before he quickly goes to get his shirt.

Ian frowns, he had been concerned that the man was hurt, but clearly that didn’t go over very well with the bounty hunter.

Grabbing his own clothes, Ian slowly redresses before he settles back down onto the blanket, but when Mickey comes back over he raises an eyebrow sharply at him.

“Tie me here if you want” Ian says with a careful smile. He knows his situation hasn't exactly changed, Mickey made that clear beforehand, but them pretending like they didn't want to be near each other had.

The bounty hunter narrows his eyes at him, but then goes over the barn doors, pulling them closed. Ian understands, the only thing worse than getting caught being intimate with a man, would be the quiet moments afterwards reserved entirely for a man and a woman.

But he didn’t want to sleep tied up to some damn pole, and he wasn’t going to make it easy for Mickey if he tried.

The glare on his face makes that clear when Mickey picks up the rope again, but after a sigh the bounty hunter lets him stay where he is, simply tying one wrist to a closer and narrower beam before he leans back down on the hay near him. Not touching, but nearer to each other than they’ve ever slept before.

Ian tries to bite his tongue once Mickey blows out the lantern and puts his hat down over his face, his tell tale sign that he's going to sleep, but Ian can’t help it.

There’s an almost bubbling excitement inside of him right now, damn if he knows why, but he wants to talk about what just happened.

Mickey was not the first man he’d been with, but it had never been like that before. Never been…. “You’re the best I’ve ever-“

“Gallagher?” Mickey interrupts firmly.

“Yeah?” Ian asks breathlessly.

“Shut up, and go to fucking sleep”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter total is an estimate at this point and may change by one or two. Anyways, now they both are in some sort of denial and I think they need to chat about that in the next chapter :P


	9. Bottled Courage

**The Milkovich Homestead,**

**Tombstone Arizona**

****

When Ian comes to in the morning, breathing in the mild scent of the sweet hay he had fallen asleep on in the Milkovich barn, he opens his tired green eyes and immediately notices the broken reflection of the other man in a partially shattered window pane resting against the barn wall across from him.

At some point while he was still asleep, Mickey must have gotten up and opened the barn doors just enough to let some daylight to stream in, and it’s given the glass a faint mirroring effect. Without revealing that he’s awoken, Ian focuses at the shard of glass in which he can see the most of Mickey’s face reflected.

He’s sitting on a wooden crate a few feet behind Ian’s back, shirtless and smoking a hand-rolled cigarette while rubbing his hand down over his face quite frequently in a motion of absolute stress. But every so often, his eyes rest on Ian’s ‘sleeping’ form for a little longer and then the sharp blues soften somewhat, before he shakes his head to himself again.

He’s a man caught in an inner turmoil, and Ian almost feels sorry for a moment that he’s caused him to be pained liked this, but in the end, it truly was neither of their faults.

His fate was sealed, not because of the bounty hunter, but because of the societal expectations of the Old West, and a woman who couldn’t handle rejection from the man she wanted as a lover.

Abandoning his ruse of pretending to be asleep, he finds he is untied and rolls over to face Mickey, who barely seems to react to the fact that he has apparently been awake for a while. Mickey’s shoulders are somewhat slumped as he sits there, but Ian’s gaze quickly falls from them to the mark he had noticed the night before, the one that Mickey had initially tried to hide.

In the light of day, Ian can see it’s actually raised scar tissue, a circle roughly the size of a man’s palm, with an engraved _M_ in the middle of it…a symbol of ownership.

He swallows hard at the ugly sight of it. He has no doubt in his mind that Mickey’s barbaric father had been the one to brand him with a cattle iron after what Mandy told him the night before, and he can’t imagine how fucking painful that must have been.

Mickey glances down at what he’s looking at, and then turns his head away in mild disgust, “Pretty huh?”

Ian looks down, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t see it clearly last night, I thought maybe I left a mark on you from-“

“You didn’t. Not a physical one anyways” Mickey says drily, before looking up at him sharply, “You’ve put me in the absolute worst position Gallagher. You know there’s nothing I can do to save your sorry ass right? Even if I let you go, if enough time passes there’s a damn good chance Hossman will start going after your family until he gets his hands on you. Something tells me you wouldn’t fucking like that”.

Ian shakes his head vehemently, “No, I fucking wouldn’t. This is my burden, not theirs. I’ll accept my fate like a man, fair or not, but I just need to know… god dammit Mickey, please just tell me you believe me”.

Mickey nods slowly, “I believe you cowboy”.

For whatever reason, those words bring Ian more comfort than he ever could have imagined, and he gets up from the barn’s floor, brushing loose hay from his trousers before he slowly approaches the other man.

He touches Mickey’s strong arms as they look into each other’s eyes and then grips them firmly as they begin to kiss again, trying to find some sort of solution to their inescapable positions in each other, but as the barn door creaks open, they pull apart and both turn to see Mandy there, no look of surprise on her face.

She clears her throat, “I have some breakfast ready”.

Mickey nods and gets off the crate, and Ian follows him up to the house wordlessly. He sits at their wooden table like a guest this time, not a prisoner, and is handed a plate as generous as Mickey’s. The eggs are hot and delicious, and he’s starving after last night, but he eats slowly and politely across from Mickey, while Mandy watches the both of them with worried eyes.

“I owe you an apology I suppose, if I scared you the way Mickey seems to think I did” she says bluntly, “But here’s the thing, my brother believes you… but how can _I_ believe you Ian Gallagher? Do you know what happens to Mickey if you aren’t handed in by him?”

Ian sighs heavily, noticing how Mickey says nothing. He wasn’t an imbecile, he knew Mickey and Mandy’s survival depended on his reputation as ‘Mad Mick’, and word was far spread that Ian was in his custody now, and on the way to Cripple Creek.

If Mad Mick ‘lost’ his captive, he would be rendered useless, and vulnerable to those that might like to seek revenge. But that’s the second part of Ian’s reasoning anyways.  

“Listen, not to be vulgar in front of a lady-“

Mickey and Mandy both snort at the polite term, but Ian continues steadily, “But I can’t lay with a woman. I have never been able to. It just doesn’t…work”.

“Well that’s not exactly unheard of, in this house anyways, but clearly that can’t be used to prove your innocence. There is no way out of this” she repeats.

Ian nods, having suddenly lost his appetite, he pushes his plate away from himself gently. It’s time to show courage, “I know that. If I don’t meet my death, you two will pay for it, and my family might pay for it too. I’m not gonna let that fucking happen. Mickey, I’ll go with you willingly to Cripple Creek. I only ask that you deliver a letter to my family for me once its over”.

Mickey blinks, his eyes avoiding Ian’s as he nods, and Ian can see the slight tinge of red in them.

He’s clearly torn between his personal values and the truth, with no easy end in sight, and perhaps some of it has to do with Ian himself being the one heading the gallows, but maybe he’s just thinking wishfully.

He takes the piece of paper Mandy brings to him, and begins to write. Education was not quite widespread across the West just yet, but reading and writing was a skill Lip had sought out to learn on his own, and in turn attempted to teach his brothers and sisters.

Ian had taken it up quite well.

_Dearest family,_

_By the time you read this, I’ll likely be buried in an unmarked grave. I don’t want you to weep, but enjoy the freedom your lives still afford you, for me. I’ll ask you for that. I’m a man with a heart and a body that can’t be tamed by our world’s rules, and I’ll die for it. But I’ll die without regret, and without malice. Please know that the bounty hunter that brings you this letter is someone who understood me, and perhaps he will upon his choosing explain more to you as to why I chose in the end to go willingly._

_With great love from your brother,_

_Ian C. Gallagher_

He folds up the paper and hands it to Mickey, who places it carefully into an inner pocket of his coat, one which Ian sees still contains his wanted notice, among others.

“You still have that?” he asks, slightly offended.

Mickey flushes red, and Ian suddenly realizes he might just be keeping it for the sketch, so he quickly changes the subject to spare him the embarrassment of coming up with a lie.

“We better get going I guess. Tie me again if you need to, I don’t want anything to look suspicious if we pass by anyone on the road”.

The bounty hunter nods, “I’ll go get the horses ready”.

Ian waits with Mandy while he disappears, who approaches to give him a gentle kiss on the cheek, “Thank you for doing this willingly. It’s saving my brother whether you realize it or not, in more ways than one. If the enemies he’s made think he’s weakened enough to lose a captive, they’d hunt him dead. But if he had to bring you in against your will…well at this point I just don’t know how he would do it. I used to think he'd wander alone forever...but he looks at you a certain way Ian Gallagher, and I’m sorry this is how you two came across each other’s paths”.

Ian swallows hard, “So am I”.

Mickey brings Diablo and one of the other horses from the barn up to the house by the reigns, and while Ian saddles up on the second one, Mickey accepts his sister’s hug goodbye. He whispers very quietly into his sister’s ears, in a gruff almost joking tone, “Finally meet one who means something and I gotta bring him to the gallows” but Ian can hear it over his horse’s snorts, and he hangs his head.

His sister hugs him a little tighter, “I know” she says gently.

His heart aching, Ian realizes he very much felt the same way. In the several years he’d spent pursuing other men to find some pleasure with, he’d never known one quite like Mickey.

Despite their difficult first encounter of each other, and the initial hardship that had followed, he found he ended up enjoying the other man’s company like no other.

He liked the way Mickey talked about things, the way he thought, and the way he was always raising an eyebrow at him. He liked the way he tried to hide his smile whenever he thought that something Ian said was funny, but how he wasn’t very good at it.

He liked how his blue eyes reflected clearly whatever emotion he was trying to hide.

When it came down to it, Ian liked quite a lot about the bounty hunter, as funny as that may seem. They understood each other now, and had a mutual respect growing between them, perhaps among other things since last night.

Mickey approaches Ian to gently tie his hands to his horse’s saddle horn in case they should run into anyone on their first stretch of travel, and then pulls himself up onto Diablo, nodding his head at his sister in farewell one last time before he nudges Diablo with his heels to go forward.

And the two of them leave the Milkovich homestead side by side, captor and captive, with a million things left unsaid between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is all gonna work out in the end, I promise. Not gonna say anything else though and spoil it haha.


	10. Above Snakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A (shorter) bonding chapter :) I think there will be 3-4 left but I don't have anything else written yet, just a plan ~ 
> 
> Old Western Slang:  
> Above snakes- above ground, still alive

**Quicktooth Saloon,**

**New Mexico Territory**

****

“Bourbon? Two top bourbons” Mickey calls to the white-haired bar keeper as he visually confirms with Ian from a head nod what he would like.

Gone were the days of him pretending he didn’t care for Ian’s own particulars.

“Thought you drank whiskey” Ian comments, as he takes his glass and tips his head in thanks to the bar keep before the old man shuffles off to tend to his other patrons at the tables.

The bounty hunter shrugs, “I’ll drink whatever gets me liquored. Besides, isn’t that what you were fuckin drinking back in El Paso?”

Ian raises an eyebrow at him in amusement, surprised Mickey had paid that much attention before he followed him outside of the saloon to realize what his drink of choice was.

“Oh, so you’re being an ass kisser” he teases, but secretly, the fact that Mickey had remembered that about him brings him some pleasure.

Mickey raises an eyebrow right back, lowering his voice as he licks his lips and then glances over a little flirtatiously, “Bet you’d like that”.

“I like most things involving your mouth” Ian says quietly, with a subtle wink.

The bounty hunter closes his blue eyes briefly, before downing his drink in one fell swoop and signalling for another.

**Najavo Land,**

**New Mexico Territory**

The hot and snapping fire just a few feet away from Ian and Mickey doesn’t do their sweat-slicked skin any favors as they push into each other even harder, their pleasured grunts and low moans filling the empty land and the heavy night air terrifically and shattering its usual silence.

Ian closes his eyes in ecstasy as Mickey gasps beneath him, steadying his final thrusts purposefully to get the other man off before he does. His looming death had, surprisingly, done very little to kill his sex drive.

Although, perhaps it wasn’t so surprising considering the heat that had continued to build between them, unbridled and free in the vast and empty lands they were travelling through on their way to Colorado.

That first night on their resumed path, before anything had happened, Mickey had taken his usual place across the fire from Ian, like nothing had changed, which had the cowboy smirking in amusement.

“Kind of hard for me to get in your trousers from all the way over here”.

Mickey had looked at him in some sort of mild surprise, “I didn’t think you’d want to…y’know, considering…” he trailed off into a mumble, and looked up at Ian regretfully as he approached, who pulled him to his feet before he pulled him to his chest.

“I don’t want to talk about that shit right now. I want to enjoy life while I’m still above snakes. With you”.

That was two nights ago, and much to Ian’s pleasure, Mickey had seemed to make it his personal mission to make that happen ever since.

They spent their long days riding their horses together across the plains and broken trails of New Mexico, and Mickey would listen intently with a cigarette in his mouth as Ian talked freely about whatever he wanted to, never once being told to shut up, other than when he was purposefully being annoying in a playful way.

At then at night, they’d make camp, and make love fervently, sometimes even waking each other up in the middle of the night once or twice to go again. Since the floodgates had been broken that night in Tombstone, they didn’t seem to be able to get enough of each other.

It was all happening so fast, but it felt right, every moment of it, and neither of them ever questioned that.

For Ian, he was making the most of every day he had left, and spending it exactly the way he wanted to. And although he had no way of knowing it, Mickey was making the most of the invaluable time he had left with the only man he had ever truly felt himself investing in.

There were times when the bounty hunter’s eyes were alight with laughter and light as they rode during the day, appreciating Ian’s company openly. And there were other times when his blue eyes appeared as overcast and dark as his soul, and not a smile could be dragged from his lips, no matter how hard Ian tried.

Mickey was like his metaphorical angel of death now, delivering him to death’s door at his own request, as he knew there was no way to escape it without in turn endangering his family… and Mickey.

And knowing that, made his sacrifice a lot easier to wrap his head around.

_“Oh fuck…fuck Ian”._

There it is.

Ian lets himself go with one last arduous round of pounding into the other man, pleasantly exhausted, but still reveling in the intensity of the release as soon as it reaches him.

He leans down slowly to kiss the bounty hunter’s warm lips once they are both finished, feeling Mickey’s tongue tentatively drift over his own, and he deepens the kiss, reassuring the other man. When he finally rolls off Mickey with a satisfied pant, brushing his damp red hair off his forehead and lying in the grass beside him contentedly, Mickey turns his head to look over at him.

And then his eyes are back up at the sky, and he’s waving his hand at the stars, almost like he’s just discovering something novel about them now, “You ever think, when I first pulled my gun on you, that we’d end up here? Like this?”

Ian shakes his head, answering honestly, “That was more than I could have hoped for”.

Mickey is silent for a while, perhaps agreeing, because what he says next has Ian searching for his eyes again, but the bounty hunter won’t turn his head.

“I never kissed another man before that night in the barn. Did other stuff, but never kissed them. Never wanted to”.

Ian bites his lip, wondering why Mickey is telling him this. He certainly seemed to enjoy kissing him now. “Did you just do it because I tried to, or because you actually wanted to?”

Mickey frowns as he considers the question, “I think I wanted to. Just didn’t really understand it until you were in my fucking face, you know? But I don’t know what that means. To be honest, I don’t really know what any of this means”.

Reaching over to touch Mickey’s hand for comfort, he finds the other man doesn’t pull away, “What do you mean, any of this?”

Mickey takes his hand away from his to pinch the bridge of his nose, “I’m not fucking happy Ian. Each day we get closer to Colorado I feel a little heavier inside. I just wish these nights wouldn’t end”.

Ian nods, “I do too”.

**_-The Next Day-_ **

“Tell me about your family”.

The sun is high and hot above the two men as they travel by horseback in the afternoon, the two of them sweating and passing the water skin between each other to stay hydrated until they find the next creek or river to stop at.

Ian thinks for a moment about Mickey’s question, mulling over the best way to describe them.

“Well…my father lived in Dodge City with my older brother Lip for the past several years, who was learning himself to eventually be a school teacher. They would hustle the cattle to the trains that me and my brother Carl would deliver from our small ranch further south, and that’s where the rest of my family lived too, my older sister Fiona, Debbie, and little Liam. But like I said, we were going under, and we lost the ranch maybe six months back. Rest of us moved up to Dodge too, but with no cattle to sell…”

“You got desperate for money. Went to Cripple Creek” Mickey offers.

“Yeah. Heard it was possible to strike gold there, and I thought all my problems would be fixed when I went”.

Ian laughs bitterly at the irony of it before he shakes his head, “I let them all down. I have no idea how they are doing now, or if they are even making ends meet. I fucking miss them Mickey”.

The hunter nods sympathetically, but then admits, “I don’t really know that feeling. Mandy does alright on her own now…never was too close to my brother. I’ve been on my own for a long time, bringing outlaws in and then sending my sister some money to keep her going. But that’s because I owe her…you know?”

Ian frowns, “Owe her? I think she feels she owes you”.

Something about the words Mandy told him while Mickey was in the barn getting the horses ready back in Tombstone rings through his mind again, and he is pretty sure Mandy feels her brother is just as trapped as he is, but that she wanted more for him. Wanted him to be happy.

Mickey shakes his head vehemently, “I didn’t protect her, all those fucking years. I should have killed him the very first time. I was eleven, but I knew how to hunt. Could have shot him soon as he let me out of my room”.

“God Mickey…are you even listening to yourself? Mandy told me that you saved her. And no son should have to kill his father, I can’t imagine that was easy”.

“Easier than you might think” Mickey says with a grimace, and then the silence falls between them again.

“Never told someone this shit before. Dunno what it is about you cowboy that makes me open my mouth so much. Maybe it’s cause…you know”.

Ian laughs, “I’ll make sure not to tell the other meat bags in the graveyard”.

“Shut up. That’s not what I meant, prick”.

Ian grins, before reaching over to give Mickey a playful shove, “What do you say we race?”

Mickey looks over at him in disbelief, sweat dripping from his forehead, “You fuckin serious right now?” Ian’s never-ending capacity to grin and bear it, to always find a way to smile, often had Mickey looking at him like he was a little crazy, but in a good way.

The only response Ian gives is to dig his heels into his stallion’s side with a loud _“Yah!”,_ and to bolt ahead of the bewildered bounty hunter, but Mickey and Diablo are soon racing neck to neck with him, and the two of them laugh breathlessly as they ride side by side.

In all their twenty years of life, the branded bounty hunter and the wanted man have never felt more free. 


	11. Eyes Closed and Travelling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everybody worried for these two, hang in there! 
> 
> Old Western Slang:  
> Blackstrap- gin and molasses  
> French Pox- Syphilis  
> Ace in the hole- hidden gun  
> Airing the paunch- throwing up, usually after too much drinking

**The Yellowbend Tavern**

**Silent Ford, Colorado**

“A…nother. Another” Mickey says, waving his tattooed hand drunkenly at the large-chested bar maid wiping dirty drinking glasses down in front of them. She pours him over another uncut whiskey in a clean glass and then turns to bat her dark long eyelashes at Ian, “How about you handsome? Another Blackstrap?”

Ian shakes his head, shooting Mickey a bit of a warning look as he declines, “No thanks mam. I’m content to finish this one off, and then I think we’ll be on our way”.

He’s noticed quite plainly that the closer they got to the state line, the more the bounty hunter had been drinking in excess, and now that they’ve passed into Colorado, it’s like he’s stopped giving a shit entirely about making mindful decisions.

But being careless doesn’t bode well for a man in the Wild West, bounty hunter or not.

Mickey misses Ian’s reproachful look entirely as he eyes his already half-empty glass, but the bar maid doesn’t catch the tension that’s between them, and she touches Ian’s hand flirtatiously, rerouting his attention to herself.

“Well we have rooms upstairs you know…maybe if you’re done drinking for the night, I could show you one while your friend stays here”.

She points over at the wooden stairs that lead to the tavern’s rooms to be rented overnight as she says this, and Ian blushes at her frank offer, but before he can think of what to say to politely turn her down, Mickey belches beside him and bluntly states, “Back off whore”.

“Mick” Ian says, eyes darting between them in shock as he laughs nervously, “Don’t talk to the lady like that”.

The bar maid frowns at Mickey and then puts on a bit of nasty expression as her feigned politeness fades entirely. Hands on her hips, she starts to give the bounty hunter shit, “I ain’t no whore, and you’re probably sittin there with your pants full of French Pox yourself, jealous I didn’t offer you first”.

Mickey just laughs ludicrously at her until she starts to flush red in embarrassment, thinking he’s making fun of her, but a moment later she lets out a shrill shriek as a violent fight suddenly breaks out at one of the poker tables behind them and a bullet goes flying towards them, shattering the glass resting two inches away from Mickey’s elbow.

 “Ace in the hole!” Mickey laughs, raising his eyebrow as he glances behind himself in amusement. He turns back to Ian and then adds seriously, “Also I don’t have any of that shit”.

The barmaid darts down behind the counter to take cover as the rest of the patrons start to scatter, but a man’s just been accused of cheating the poker table, and the bullets are flying heavy now.

Ian shoves Mickey’s arm to get him to snap out of it, absolutely bewildered by his apparent lack of concern at the gunfight taking place among lawful citizens, putting them all in harms way.

 “What the fuck are you doing! Shoot him you jackass!” he hisses.

Mickey starts to reach for his Colt .45 at his direction but fumbles his grip, and seeing one of the riled poker players aim his gun at the man standing directly behind Mickey again, Ian quickly shoves him off his stool and to the floor right as a bullet goes flying through right where he had been sitting a moment earlier.

Of course, that means he momentarily takes Mickey’s place, and although he misses taking the bullet, it grazes his arm as he goes down, and he swears loudly as his shirt starts to bloom red in the sleeve.

Now on the floor with him, Mickey’s glassy blue eyes land on Ian’s injured arm, and it’s like he immediately snaps out of his drunken stupor at the sight of his blood.

He grips his gun firmly and then aims it directly towards the man who accidentally shot Ian. 

The rest of the tavern has already gone to hell at this point. Tables are being flipped, poker chips are scattered… nobody can even tell who’s shooting at who anymore and Mickey seems sorely tempted to stay inside and see the catastrophe out, but Ian roughly grabs him by the sleeve of his shirt and hurries him out the front doors and into the streets right as the town’s sheriff shows up to burst inside the tavern with his rifle and handcuffs.

Ian swears as he quickly drags Mickey back around behind the tavern to hide, where the bounty hunter then proceeds to air the paunch noisily for the next minute or so. Ian keeps one hand on his back but continues to dart his head around wildly in lookout for any one that might come their way still slinging a gun.

It seems like things are rapidly quieting down from inside the tavern though, and peeking out from the behind the building to see what’s going on, Ian can view the sheriff triumphantly leading the man who started the fight down the road in cuffs towards the town’s jail.

Ian lets out a sigh of relief, leaning against the building as Mickey spits by his boots and then shakes his head in disgust.

“Better?” Ian asks as calmly as he can. Mickey nods and wipes his mouth on his sleeve, and then Ian proceeds to smack his arm angrily.

“What the _hell_ is the matter with you? _I’m_ the one that’s going to die and you’re the one losing your shit? What the fuck! You could have been killed back there Mick!”

Mickey’s eyes immediately fall back to the wound on Ian’s arm from where he almost took a bullet for him, and his face suddenly clouds, “Why the fuck would you do that”.

“Do what?” Ian runs his hand through his red hair stressfully, wondering why Mickey can’t ever just answer a damn question without asking another.

“Risk your life for me…you said it your fucking self Ian, I’m losing it”.

He sounds miserable for a moment, but Ian shakes his head, not willing to give him any fucking sympathy right now considering his own position, “Well stop losing it. I did it because I care more about your life than mine now, alright? So quit fucking around!”

He answers the question without really thinking much about his response because he was so damn riled up, but as the two of them pant at each other, he realizes its entirely true. His life is an hourglass running out of sand, and Mickey still has his whole life ahead of him…

He doesn’t know how exactly it happened so fast, but Mickey’s matters more to him now. The bounty hunter immediately sinks at his confession, reaching out for him, “I will…just… don’t do anything fucking stupid like that again. C’mere, let me look at it”.

Mickey takes Ian’s arm gently to inspect the surface wound, and bites his lip out of guilt even though its already stopped bleeding.

“You owe me… bastard” Ian says as seriously as he can, but as Mickey’s eyes dart up towards his worriedly, he sees the teasing gleam has returned to Ian’s eyes, and his face breaks out into a grin.

-

Pressed up against a tree near an abandoned dirt road later that same night, groaning uncontrollably, Ian’s mind involuntarily flashes back to his first days of being Mickey’s captor, how he was often positioned like this against his own will.

Now, as he reaches down to stroke the dark head lowered down in front of him, and runs his fingers through Mickey’s short black locks, he thinks there’s no place he’d rather fucking be.

“Just like that…feels so fucking good” he pants, feeling Mickey’s lips move into some sort of a smile around his dick at the compliment. Turned out Mickey took his jab about owing him seriously, and took back his earlier statement that he _“didn’t do that”._

Well, Ian wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He leans back against the tree’s rough trunk and closes his eyes with a satisfied grin, “So…you gonna catch it?” Mickey raises an eyebrow but doesn’t stop moving his mouth up and down his length, so Ian clarifies, “My load?”

Mickey stops for a moment to look up with him the filthiest look in his blue eyes before he continues going down on him, and Ian shudders a bit in pleasure before he warns him, “It’s coming Mick…I’m gonna fucking come”.

He can feel the bounty hunter hesitate as he initially starts to spurt into his mouth for a second or two, but then he swallows hard, taking everything Ian gives him. Mickey pants as he pulls off, but then raises an eyebrow at him, “You get a half hour to recharge and then that thing is going in me” he demands, giving him a cheeky grin.

Ian bites his lip and pulls him upwards to his lips, kissing Mickey so deeply he can still taste himself in his mouth, “Will you lay with me until then?”

The bounty hunter seems a little confused by the request, so Ian decides to just show him what he means, laying down and patting his chest so Mickey will lie up against him.

They had slept beside each other most nights, at times reaching a hand out to rest on the other man’s arm, but they never held each other in any way, the way Ian knew most men and women did.

More and more, he was growing to find a reliable comfort in having Mickey close to him, in any way, and it feels like a warm blanket settles over him as Mickey pulls himself up against him, before laying his head back over his arm.

They are both quiet for a minute or two, and then Mickey admits, “Feels kinda nice”.

Ian keeps his response simple, because with Mickey’s heart beating so fast and so close to his own, he feels his throat getting a little thick.

“Yeah… it does”.

-

He squints in the direction of the rising sun, once again feeling a strange sense of doubt come over himself at he looks at the horizon.

To get to Cripple Creek from Silent Ford, they should have continued on going straight North, but Ian could almost swear they were headed more North-East.

They had been travelling steadily without passing another town or any signs for the past day or so, so perhaps his concern was unfounded…but the landscape was starting to look more familiar to him, and not in the sense of what he remembered from his brief time in Colorado.

He starts to ask again, “Are you sure-“

“Yeah, I know where I’m goin” Mickey sighs, clearly tired by the repeated question, “Look cowboy, you travelled the same route your whole life delivering cattle, except for the one time you went to Cripple Creek and then ran your convicted ass to El Paso. I’ve been travelling over the West every for the past five years...I know where I’m fucking going”.

“Okay, okay” Ian says, dropping the subject.

The bounty hunter had become increasingly quiet over the past day or so as well, and although he was back to drinking normal amounts, Ian was still a little worried about him. If their positions were reversed, well fuck… he’d be losing his damn mind by now over the thought of taking Mickey to his death, and then trying to go on without him. In fact, he probably wouldn't be able to do it at all.

And then it slowly dawns on him…Ian glances over at Mickey suspiciously. He only ever asked Mickey if _he knew_ where he was going, not _where_ exactly he was going, and the bounty hunter had misled him.

His nagging feeling of misdirection wasn’t fucking unfounded at all, they _were_ going North-East, and he _did_ recognize this landscape.

Because they weren’t in Colorado anymore, they were in Kansas.

And they were headed towards Dodge City.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don't recall, Ian is from Dodge City, Kansas. And no, this isn't what fixes all their problems, it's just the beginning of it :)  
> Also, it is apparently largely a myth that the Old West was this violent and prone to gun fights like we see in movies and such, but this is a drama so I'm keeping that setting :)


	12. Playing The Lone Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Old Western Slang:  
> playing the lone hand- doing something alone

**Headed North-East,**

**Kansas**

Ian swallows hard as the truth of what Mickey has done hits him, mostly because he just can’t understand why.

“Mickey? Why are you taking me home?” he asks quietly.

The bounty hunter’s blue eyes dart over towards him in surprise, but then after glancing around himself, he quickly pieces together that Ian must have recognized the landscape, regardless of his attempts to avoid any towns along the way that would have tipped Ian off to where they were headed.

Without saying anything, he reaches inside of his coat pocket, and after taking it out carefully with his tattooed fingers, hands Ian his letter back.

Taking the worn paper in his hands, Ian thinks hard for a moment, trying to stay calm. They had come so far together over the past few weeks, that he didn’t know if he could go the rest of the way on his own. His voice is low and gravelly when he speaks again.

He tries to sound harsh, even though it’s not in him right now, so Mickey can understand how serious he is about doing this, “You fucking promised me Mickey. So I’m gonna ask you one damn time, if I say goodbye to them myself, will you take me to fucking Cripple Creek afterwards?”

"I...can't".

Ian can see the sadness written all over the bounty hunter’s face at his heavy request, but he still stubbornly adds, “If you don’t, I’ll just go and hand myself in. Alone".

It might be damn selfish to force him into it, but he wanted his last day or so to be spent with Mickey, not travelling completely alone to his undeserved death.

Mickey doesn’t answer verbally, but continues to ride along beside him, so after another moment of silence, Ian reaches over to squeeze his arm, changing his approach.

“Come on, come with me. I want you to meet my family” he says gently.

It takes a long time, but Ian eventually sees Mickey nod his dark Stetson hat in response, “If that’s what you want” the bounty hunter says quietly.  

“It is”.

**Dodge City,**

**Kansas**

A strange sense comes over Ian as him and Mickey pass through the main streets of Dodge some time later, for although the streets are familiar to him, he’d lived and grown up on them for half his life…they no longer feel like home.

Instead he feels much a stranger now, traversing over roads that no longer hold the same meaning they used to for him, a wanted man.

Mickey is silent for much of the journey, lost in his own thoughts perhaps, and the only sounds besides the other Dodgers walking in the streets and talking to each other are their horses swishing their tails and clopping along.

After passing through the town and towards the Gallagher property line, Ian finally sees an old familiar homestead in the distance about an hour later.

Without uttering a word of emotion or otherwise, he kicks his horse in the sides automatically, urging it to run the rest of the way home.

Regardless of everything that he knew, the sad truth that remained, home and family brought him a warm feeling in his heart that would not be extinguished.

He can hear Diablo’s hooves galloping close behind him, so Mickey had followed his lead, and as soon as they arrive in front of the house, Ian slides off his horse immediately.

Apparently noticing that there were two young men galloping towards the house insistently, the front door defensively flings open right as Ian begins to approach it, and he sees his older sister Fiona standing there, her brown eyes filling with shock as she realizes who it is.

“Ian…” she whispers. Dropping the frying pan she had been gripping protectively, the shock in her eyes is quickly replaced with tears.

He runs forward and grabs her into a tight hug, squeezing her with all he’s got as she holds him back. But then she comes to her senses almost immediately, and glances behind him as she remembers Ian is a wanted man, not recognizing his companion at first.

“Hurry, you need to get inside! Both of you, get inside”.

Ian’s older sister ushers both Mickey and Ian into the house, and the rest of his family immediately begins to exclaim at the sight of their long-lost brother. The younger ones, not understanding what any of it means, are simply excited and happy to see him, but Lip and Fiona’s faces are strained with worry, not joy.

Then after a few minutes of jovial greetings and hugs between siblings, Mickey takes his Stetson hat off, holding it to his chest and nodding politely as Ian introduces him to the family, “Everyone, this is-“

“What the fuck!” Lip suddenly interrupts, as his eyes fall to Mickey’s tattooed hands gripping the hat and he recognizes the stranger, “You son of a bitch… you brought him here looking for extra money?”

With angry and balled fists, he begins to advance on the bounty hunter, but Ian quickly blocks him from attacking the other man, “No! No, it’s not like that at all! You don’t understand”.

“Ian, that’s _Mad Mick_ ” Lip is looking at him like he’s plum crazy, and the rest of them are all starting to shift nervously as they look at Mickey too, remembering the stories.

“I mean no harm coming here. I just wanted to bring Ian home” Mickey says firmly, his face reddening slightly.

 “I don’t understand, why would…wait are you….? How…?” Fiona rambles without making much sense, trying to put the pieces together that don’t seem to fit no matter how hard she tries. From the looks on everyone else’s faces, they are just as confused.

Ian sighs, knowing he doesn’t have time to explain it all.

“It’s a long story. Yes, he’s _‘Mad’_ Mick. Except…he’s not. He’s just Mickey” he looks back at the bounty hunter, who’s lips lift into a sad smile, and then Ian continues firmly, “He caught me in El Paso, and at first, he was going to hand me in. But all that changed, he knows I’m innocent now”.

Fiona starts to beg with him, “Ian, honey, you know we love you and we missed you like crazy, but you are risking your life by coming here. You know you can’t stay. We are too close to Cripple Creek here, and let me tell you, Hossman is angrier than ever. He upped your price to $800”.

Ian shakes his head, ignoring the lump forming in his throat. “I’m not here to stay. I came to say goodbye. I’m going to turn myself in, so nobody else has to take the fall for this. I couldn’t live with myself if I ran and let him come after you for revenge”.

Lip’s eyes practically bulge out of his head as he starts to yell again, “That’s why you’re here? Holy shit Ian, no! God, when he upped the price I went in and even offered to take your place, so you could be free…” Lip says, grabbing at his arms as Ian’s eyes fill with tears at the admission, “But he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want anybody but _you_ to be hanged. You aren’t doing the honorable thing for anyone by turning yourself in, you are just taking the fall for something you didn’t fucking do!”.

Mouth hanging open for a moment, Ian then shakes his head, “There’s still the matter of Mickey, and his sister. I can’t be let free without risking his life in turn, there’s a lot of outlaws who’d like to get their hands on him if they think he’s gone soft”.

His older sister sounds slightly bitter as she tries to reason with him, “Ian… he’s a bounty hunter. You can’t give up your life for his. And I think…I think he knows that”.

Breathing out heavily from his nostrils, Ian turns to point at Mickey while he defends him to his family, but there’s no one standing behind him anymore.

 “Where the fuck did he go?” he demands, as Fiona shakes her head, “Ian…let him go. He’s giving you a better chance to get away”.

Blatantly ignoring his sister, Ian flings open the front door and sees the bounty hunter settling onto Diablo’s saddle, just about to leave.

“Where the fuck are you going?” Ian demands, “You promised!”

The bounty hunter shakes his head, sadness etched into his eyes, “No. I promised for the sake of your family Ian. Not for my own, and I sure as hell won’t let you die by my doing”.

Ian’s mouth drops open as he tries to think of what to say, how to convince him to stay, but he can see how heavy the other man’s blue eyes are.

“Please…don’t do this” he whispers, feeling his own eyes start to fill.

Mickey takes a deep breath, and clears his throat before he answers firmly, “You need to hide, or run Ian. Your family will be okay. Get away from here…be safe cowboy. I… I’ll miss you”.

Without another word he squeezes his eyes shut, slaps Diablo’s reigns down, and takes off as Ian continues to shout after him, “You son of a bitch! Get back here! You promised! They’ll come after you! Mickey _I-”_

His words are spent in vain however, as the bounty hunter is getting farther and farther away.

Ian starts to desperately pull himself back up into the saddle of the remaining horse to go after him, but Lip and Fiona are both outside now, and yank him down from the horse while he struggles all the way, pulling him inside the house against his will.

“You don’t understand! You don’t- let me go!” he grunts, trying to shove them away.

Lip punches him in the jaw to get him to calm down, and indeed, Ian freezes for a moment. “Ian, do you have a goddamn death wish? So fucking help me if you step foot outside this house again… you are leaving tomorrow morning and you are not looking back, you hear me? We love you, and we aren’t gonna let you throw your damn life away because of some bounty hunter you think you-“

“Don’t fucking say it” Ian spits, “I swear to God”.

Lip lifts his hands to calm him down, his eyes softening slightly, “Alright, alright. But Ian… he’s probably long gone now. And he left for your sake. He knows he would be recognized way too often in these parts, and if you were with him…”

Ian feels hot and angry tears welling in his eyes, but he knows its true. He’d somehow managed to ruin Mickey’s reputation, risk both their lives multiple times, and he never even got the chance to tell him how much he meant to him.

His older brother grabs him the shoulders to snap him back into the seriousness of the moment, “You can sleep in the cellar tonight, in case anyone comes looking. Someone might have recognized you in town, it really isn’t safe for you to be here at all”.

“Well I wasn’t supposed to stay, I didn’t mean to get any of you in trouble” Ian answers, trying to steady both his aching heart and his troubled emotions.

Lip shakes his head vehemently, “Don’t worry about us, worry about yourself. I’m going to make you a map tonight, okay? You are going to get out of here, Ian, and you are _going_ to be okay”.  

**Later That Night,**

**The Gallagher Homestead**

Curled up into a miserable ball in the Gallagher’s cellar, Ian clutches the piece of paper Lip had given him when they brought him down some home-cooked dinner earlier.

His older brother had gone to town to get him a flyer advertising logging jobs available by the hundreds down in Oregon, a place he said was so far from both Cripple Creek and Kansas, that no one would ever recognize him there. He had even drawn Ian a basic map on how to travel across the states to get there.

There was a time, even perhaps a few weeks ago, that the prospect of a good job and safety in even an unknown land, where he could build a life for himself, would have given Ian an abundance of hope, regardless of how difficult it may be to get there.

But now... now it does very little to lift the heavy ache in his chest.

Lonely, heartbroken, and lying down hidden in the damp cellar by crates filled with apples, Ian closes his eyes and tries to pretend he’s somewhere else.

He used to close his eyes and dream of home.

Now he dreams that he's a few feet away from warm and snapping fire, out underneath the endless sky night of Arizona, with a blue-eyed bounty hunter by his side.

 

 _Inscribed in our eyes was the grim epithet_  
_Lovers without leverage, we sealed our fate_  
_But there's a chance we can still be saved…_  
_I cooked up some medicine, darling_  
_Just drink until there's nothing left_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is the finale which starts with Mickey, the wild ride isn't quite over yet :) 
> 
> Excerpt at the end is from Survivalist Fantasy - Kyle Morton.


	13. Someone to Ride the River With

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go!
> 
> Old Western Slang for this chapter:  
> rum-hole= saloon/drinking parlor  
> forty-rod whiskey= like, deadly strong  
> barrel fever= hang over  
> beating the devil through the stump= evading responsibility  
> Someone to ride the river with= A person to be counted on; reliable; got it where it counts...

**Outside the O.K. Corral,**

**Dodge City Kansas**

Mickey wakes up with an annoyed groan, pushing Diablos’ moist and nudging lips away from his creased forehead.

“Fuck off” he mutters, but besides the horse’s insistent nibbles at his hair and face, the sound of loud and angry voices in the street is waking him up further. The bare ground is hard and uncomfortable against his ass too, and he rubs his lower back to alleviate some of the stiffness as he opens his eyes.

He didn’t even make it past the Dodge City rum-hole after forcing himself to ride away from Ian and the Gallagher homestead yesterday, and after he finished trying to drown himself in forty-rod whiskey in the saloon, he’d stumbled outside, vomited up everything he had drunk, and then passed out beside where he had tied Diablo in front of a water trough.

All things considered, he could have ended up in a lot worse physical condition considering how much he drank, and he still felt wretched, but it wasn't from barrel fever. It was from remembering the broken look on Ian’s terrified face before he rode away without looking back.

As much as he truly longed to now, he couldn’t selfishly stay by Ian's side. As long as he was here in these parts of the West, he would continue to be recognized each town over as an infamous bounty hunter, and in turn Ian would be recognized and eventually hunted down.

Mickey couldn’t protect him forever, not especially now that outlaws would no longer fear him or his name.

What seemed to be stinging the most above all else though was the troubling knowledge that Ian would risk it all just to stay in his company regardless, because it reminded him of what he had to give up.

But he couldn’t let the cowboy die on his behalf, so he risked his own sorry life to give Ian a chance to be free. It was the only sane thing he could do given their circumstances.

Now all he had left of the cowboy was a fading bruise from his thumb on his right thigh, and a inked sketch of him on his 'wanted' poster. The thought of that makes him feel mildly ill. 

Blinking in the bright daylight, his muddled attention slowly narrows in on the two rather pompous looking men with bowler hats standing outside of the sheriff’s office just down the street, who doesn’t appear to be in, as their loud and repeated knocks go unanswered. If Mickey can recall correctly, he's pretty sure the sheriff disappeared upstairs with one of the saloon's many whores last night, and he must still be sleeping it off.

One of the men standing outside the office is bright red in the face, seemingly infuriated, and the other just appears troubled as they both remount their horses and pass by where Mickey is slumped in the dirt, without paying his presence any heed.

“Son of a bitch!” the red-faced one sputters, still complaining violently about the absent sheriff, “If he won’t answer, I’ll just take care of it myself! I’ve been dreaming about this damn day for months anyways”.

His companion tries to reason with him, but to no apparent avail. “William, you can’t just burst into their home with a gun, you don’t even know if he’s there for sure! Just wait until the sheriff comes back, and he’ll take care of the deadbeat for you”.

“No, no I’m glad he’s not in! The bastard is _here_ , he was seen last night heading to the Gallagher homestead, so I’m gonna shoot him and scalp him myself today, the blasted bastard! My Aileen will have the justice her innocent heart deserves!”

And with that, William Hossman kicks his poor horse viciously, and bolts down the street as the other man shakes his fair head and turns his own horse slowly to wait outside the sheriff’s empty office alone for him to return.

In the same instance, Mickey quickly scrambles to his feet, yanking himself up onto Diablo desperately and ignoring the suspicious look that William’s still present companion gives him as he starts to swear in panic.

If Ian hadn’t fucking left yet, or had decided to hide at the Gallagher homestead instead of running, his life was going to come to a short and violent end if Mickey didn't get there in time.

Mickey slams his heels into Diablo, the horse rearing slightly and then neighing shrilly as Mickey screams, _“Yah! Yah!”_  He urges the Mustang to gallop down the path Hossman had disappeared down, dust flying up around them in an ongoing cloud as he pushes the Mustang more and more.

He can’t even see the other man in sight, and his heart thumps so hard in his heavy chest with fear and angst that he can barely breathe. He can’t let Ian die. He _can’t._ Every nerve in his body is screaming at him so insistently as he rides on to save Ian Gallagher that he grits his teeth just to keep himself from yelling out in frustration.

He’d accept his own lonely sorrows, his own _death_ , gladly if it just meant Ian could fucking survive and find a life for himself, in any way possible.

Finally, Mickey can see the Gallagher homestead appear in the near distance, with Hossman’s horse already tied outside of it.

The front door is flung wide open, the chairs that had been resting on the porch are toppled over, and it looks like there was a desperate struggle to keep the enraged man coming inside.

“Fuck... _no_ …” runs through Mickey’s mind desperately on repeat, and the second Diablo reaches the house he jumps right off him into the dirt, yanking his Colt .45 out from his belt and bolting inside of the house a second later.

His blue eyes dart around at the scene in front of him as he tries to narrow in on what’s happening.

The kids are huddled behind a terrified yet protective Fiona in a corner of the room, and Lip is panting heavily and staring at Hossman with daggers in his eyes, who’s back is to Mickey. It seems the elder Gallagher is no longer able to try and defend his younger brother, as Hossman’s got the gun pointed right at Ian.

The redhead’s hands are raised in innocence, and that’s all Mickey can see of Ian while standing behind the larger man blocking his view.

-

“No more beating the devil around the stump you red-headed bastard, you’re gonna pay through the nose for what you did” William Hossman snarls, cocking his gun while closing one eye to aim for Ian’s skull.

Ian closes his own green eyes and swallows hard, and hearing his younger siblings sob in fear from their hiding place behind Fiona, he chokes back one of his own.

He had been devastated from the loss of Mickey, but packed and ready to leave for his freedom in Oregon when Hossman showed up and surprised them, fighting past Lip like an angry bull on the front porch to get into the house, and warning everyone else to get the fuck out of the way as he pulled his gun on Ian.

He wouldn't listen to reason from the Gallaghers, or any of Ian's panted claims of innocence, instead getting so angry during the brief conversation that he decided to skip the torture he had originally planned on inflicting and go straight to murder instead.

Ian takes one last deep breath as he hears the gun’s hammer click, and then a loud blast rings throughout the entire house.

Ian doesn’t feel anything…but he can still hear his sisters screaming, along with a heavy thump of something hitting the ground in front of him.

Opening his green eyes uncertainly, Ian’s gaze lifts from the dead form of William Hossman bleeding out on the floor, to the shaking one of Mickey standing there behind him, his gun still held to where Hossman had been standing a moment earlier.

“You came back” Ian whispers, and as his siblings rush towards him to grab at him, sobbing into his shirt, he can only stare at the bounty hunter in disbelief.

Mickey clears his throat, but his blue eyes are still looking pained, “Ian you _need_ to leave. His fucking friend is already waiting for the sheriff back in town, and they’ll be coming here for you. I can hold off em off for a while with this but-”

Ian frowns at him, angry that he would even consider offering his own life up for Ian's, “No Mickey, you’re as wanted as I am now. You shot an innocent man. If you stay they’ll kill you”.

The bounty hunter looks down at the dead form of William Hossman and heaves a heavy sigh, “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t just let him kill you. I made my choice... and I don't fucking regret it. I never really lived until I knew you anyways. But you need to leave, like now, so I guess…I guess this is goodbye”.

It hits Ian like a lightening bolt as soon as he hears those words.

He shakes his head slowly, looking up into Mickey's blue eyes with some sort of wonder as he puts it together, “Mickey…neither of us are free men, we never have been. Not until we met each other”.

The bounty hunter looks confused at his growing excitement, not understanding what could give him even a lick of hope in such a dark moment, “What the hell are you trying to say Gallagher?”

Ian looks around at the rest of his family and then back at Mickey with shining eyes, “ _Neither_ of us can stay in this part of the West, Mickey! I’m going to Oregon… and I want you to _come with me_. You said it yourself…I’m someone to ride the river with, remember?” he adds hopefully.

Any sorrow he might have had leaving Kansas for good, and his family, would be gone if he had this man by his side. 

The bounty hunter’s face initially seems to reflect disbelief at the offer, but the longer Ian looks at him with those earnest green eyes, the more a happiness begins to shine in his own, “You’re sure you want that? You want me to come with you, to Oregon?” he asks, trying to hold his own reaction in.

Ian practically sags with relief, “Mick... wild horses couldn’t drag me away from you. We’ll have to travel mostly during the night, and keep our heads down until we get there, but I have everything we need packed and ready to go. Please... come with me”.

As if to seal his offer, Ian closes the space between them, grabs his arm, and without another word kisses the other man deeply.

Mickey stiffens at first in the presence of their company, but then slowly relaxes, reaching one hand out to hold Ian’s cheek gently.

“Never gonna leave you again cowboy. You’re mine” he whispers into his lips.

Ian rests his forehead against the other man's, “I’m yours”.

A slow smiles crosses both of their lips as they come apart, and then Ian turns to look at his family, true happiness shining in his eyes for once during this entire catastrophe. He gestures down to Hossman’s limp form apologetically, but Lip just shakes his head, “We’ll clean it up. Just get your outlaw asses out of here”.

The Gallaghers all follow the two of them quickly outside, and Ian tosses Mickey a bag of supplies for their journey after he pulls himself onto Diablo. Then he turns to give his family members one last round of farewell hugs.

Climbing up onto his own horse after his heartfelt goodbyes, Ian gives his old house one last look, and realizes, home wasn’t here for him anymore, in Kansas. It was wherever he was with Mickey.

“I’ll write” he beams, “But I’ll send them to Mickey’s sister to be rerouted here, in case anyone is checking to see if you have contact with me. Look for the name Mandy Milkovich on the envelope”.

Fiona nods, reaching up to give him one last kiss goodbye before he settles into the saddle, gripping the reigns tightly, “We love you Ian…enjoy your freedom in Oregon. Get there safely” she says, with some happy but worried tears reflecting in her eyes.

Ian watches as his siblings all huddle together with their arms around each other to watch him leave, giving them one last tip of his Stetson hat in farewell before he turns to Mickey and waits.

The bounty hunter’s blue eyes drift over him as Diablo shifts impatiently, “Well cowboy? Ready to go?”

Ian smiles, happiness lighting up his face as he nods to him.

“Let’s ride”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for hanging in on this intense ride and reading til the end! <3
> 
> (The next chapter which I'm posting at the same time at this one is just two letters from the boys sent back home, sort of a short epilogue)
> 
> There's a chance I'll write a small sequel for this one from the time between the last chapter to the letters, just because I'm just really loving the setting and the drama/action genre :)


	14. 8 Months Later (Epilogue)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Letters the boys sent back home after their escape to Oregon.

To Mandy Milkovich, From M. Milkovich

Postage Paid from Mt. Hood Oregon to Tombstone Arizona.

_Mandy,_  
  
_Ian and I made it safely to Oregon a few months back, which I'm sure you partly already knew, since our asses were never dragged back to Kansas in cuffs. Sure that news would have reached you even in Tombstone._

_I gotta say, it was kind of strange being the hunted instead of the fucking hunter, but now that it's all over, I don't even miss the chase to be honest. I think I found what I was always looking for when I nabbed that cowboy back in El Paso._

_Remember that night I showed up with Ian, and we went outside to talk alone, and you asked me if I was falling for him, going soft, and I gave you hell just for suggesting it?_

_Well, I think it probably all started from the first time he turned around to look me in the eyes after taking a piss, with his hands in the air, and his bright red hair all mussed up while I pointed a gun at him._

_Anyways, Ian's hollering for me now to go swim in the creek with him, so I'll end here. I hope you're taking care of yourself, and remember if you ever need anything that your dumb husband back in Texas can't provide, just write._

_-Your brother, Mick_

_Also, don’t forget to repost Ian’s letter in this envelope to his family._

_…Love you._

 

To ‘The Gallaghers’, From Mandy Milkovich

Postage Paid from Mt. Hood Oregon to Tombstone Arizona,

Reposted to Dodge City Kansas.

_Dearest Family,_  
  
_I am sorry that I have not written sooner, but the past eight months have been ones filled with travel, adventure, and falling in love... and I've truly been caught up in the wonder of it all._

_Mick and I are finally happily settled in Oregon now, and after a few months of working hard for the Weyerhaeuser Timber Company, we are working on building a homestead during our time off from the ground up for ourselves to live together, far from any others to afford us the privacy we need. Until it's finished, we will continue to sleep underneath the stars every night, and they truly seem infinite out here._

_We are making good money working for this logging company in Mt. Hood, Lip, you were definitely right about its growing success, but should that ever fail, we have thought about starting a small farm together, with the essentials to keep us going._

_Mickey often jokes that I’m still a cowboy at heart, and that I probably need some cattle to herd to be kept content, but I don’t think that’s true._

_I still miss you very much, and think of you all often, but I want you all to know how happy I am out here. I always imagined having to live a life marked by personal loneliness, but I have never felt more whole than I do now._

_It's almost funny… I thought my life was over the day I was marked as a wanted man, but really, it was just beginning._  
  
_Love always, your brother,_  
  
_Ian C. Gallagher_

__


End file.
